


Game Theory

by Cheesesack (Omnitron310)



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Action, Angst, Betrayal, F/F, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Manipulation, Psychological Torture, Romance, Sweet, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-29
Updated: 2016-11-29
Packaged: 2018-09-03 01:56:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 71,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8691943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omnitron310/pseuds/Cheesesack
Summary: Seven of Nine is struggling to come to terms with her developing feelings for her closest friend and mentor, but that won't stop her from pursuing them with characteristic determination and efficiency. However, her plans are interrupted when the crew of Voyager awaken an ancient and powerful synthetic organism found adrift in deep space. Unaware of its blood-soaked history, and the role it played in the downfall of an ancient empire, they welcome its help with open arms. But as the situation escalates and the machine's true nature is revealed, it soon becomes clear that Seven could be the only one able to save Voyager, and perhaps more importantly, her Captain.





	1. The Tyrant

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys. I know it's annoying to read long monologues from authors, so I'll keep it short and sweet. Welcome to my story. I hope you enjoy it :) If you do, or even if you don't, I'd love to read any comments or reviews you have. Those are always a huge inspiration to continue writing. Also, a big thank you to everyone who's looked over it or beta'd for it, and continues to do so. You guys rock.
> 
> Just one disclaimer before we begin: the Explicit rating is for all kinds of things, including stuff that is yet to come. That includes language, violence, gore, sex, angst, all that good stuff. If that puts you off for any reason, I will just say that while I enjoy putting characters through hell, I am also a sucker for happy endings. Take from that what you will.
> 
> Also, this story is on ff.net as well. I'll aim to keep both versions updated simultaneously. Find it here, if you'e interested:  
> https://www.fanfiction.net/s/9508362/1/Game-Theory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Enemy's fate is decided. Millenia later, Voyager detects an anomaly that piques Janeway's interest. But not as much as a certain ex-Borg drone.

The courtroom was the pride of the Skyrion capital. Set amongst the gleaming spires of the country sized city, the mile-high chamber was encased in stained glass which channelled the light of Vinlor’s twin suns into dazzling arrays of shape and colour. Ornate balconies clung to the inner walls like barnacles, in which the elite and wealthy watched justice being dispensed from their lofty viewpoint. From every ledge hung a banner detailing the absolute words of law as dictated by the Grand Preceptor during the Ninth Age of Ambiguity. On the floor below, row upon row of carved pews now bore the weight of the largest public jury ever to grace the hall. For this was a momentous day that would be remembered for many generations.

This was the day The Enemy would face trial.

“All rise for the honourable Lord of Sceptres,” a clerk’s voice cut through the murmurs which filled the room, seemingly directed at the solitary figure who sat on a simple metal chair in the centre of the circular judgment floor.

The figure remained seated.

“Did you not hear the command, prisoner?!” spat one of the guards, taking a step forward, all four of his hands clenching into fists.

“I heard it well enough,” the figure replied coolly, his voice almost hinting at boredom. “But you would be wise not to enforce it. You know as well as I do that these chains can in no way prevent me from killing you.”

The guard snarled and took another step forward, but an order from the presiding judge forced him to back off.

"Let's not concern ourselves with the formalities," the court official said as he entered the room and took his place at the top of the monolithic bench. "Besides, the chains are purely ceremonial. It is the arcum field which is keeping you in place."

"An arcum field?” the figure chuckled. “I'm flattered," he moved one of his hands experimentally, encountering an impenetrable wall of invisible light a few feet from his body. "Tell me, how many homes are currently without power just to keep this machine running?"

"Many citizens of this city would gladly die to see you brought to justice. I assure you that a few hours in the dark was a price they were more than happy to pay. In any case, let us begin the trial. I think we would all like it over with as soon as possible."

"This is hardly a trial at all," the accused figure retorted. "My guilt has never once been in question in the eyes of your law."

"As is rightfully so," the judge hid his expression behind a stack of papers which he shuffled idly, but it was obvious to everyone in the court that he detested the acused as much as any other citizen. "Never in the history of our culture has there been a war criminal that even begins to approach your level of barbarism. Your crimes, and the face behind them, are known throughout all of civilized space. We gather today not to discuss your laughable claims of innocence, but to decide upon a sufficient and fitting punishment."

"You can't blame me for trying," the accused man barked out a harsh, humourless laugh. "So let me guess. You've decided to rescind the ban on public executions simply for my benefit? That’s awfully sweet of you."

"Death, if the termination of whatever you are can be called death, would be far too kind a sentence," this was met with a few cries of approval from the assembled crowd. "But now I'm getting ahead of myself."

Clearing his throat, the magistrate signalled to one of his entourage, who then produced a hefty scroll, similar to the banners which lined the walls.

"The being known only as The Enemy stands accused of grievous and repeated travesties against the Skyrion Empire and its affiliated member states," the clerk's voice easily carried throughout the entire spire, which had been acoustically designed to amplify the voices of those on the ground floor. "These include but are by no means limited to; the sacking of Realion spaceport, the murder of Princess Azinance, the use of outlawed biological weapons against the colonists of New Palcy, the theft of Imperial war assets, the..."

"Oh stop, please, you're embarrassing me." The Enemy smiled; a mirthless expression that didn't come close to touching his eyes.

"Your irreverence only serves to increase the severity of your sentence."

"There is nothing you can do to injure me."

"Perhaps," The magistrate conceded. "But we do not need to harm your body to punish you."

He rose from his seat, leaning forward in his dais to stare down at the figure below.

“You may not be so jovial once you hear what we have devised. As soon as your capture was confirmed, our top engineers, some of whose families you yourself have murdered, were tasked with creating a device that could produce the same misery you yourself have inflicted on so many others."

"I doubt they will be capable of succeeding. If there's one thing I've become quite adept at, it's spreading misery." The figure smirked again, his impossibly shiny teeth catching the light.

"So we are aware." The judge said, before snapping his fingers. "For this reason, you are to be imprisoned in the Eternity Ark. Naturally, the sentence is life. I assume for you that will be quite a long time."

"No vote? Whatever happened to democracy?"

"The vote has already been taken. You think we'd risk the possibility of you intimidating the jurors into giving you a lighter sentence? No."

"A wise move. So, tell me...what is this 'Eternity Ark'? It's got a rather grand name."

The judge's lip curled imperceptibly in a venomous, triumphant snarl.

"Your synthetic nature was what inspired the device. Unlike us mortals, you are capable of remaining conscious indefinitely without any form of sustenance. The Eternity Ark will do just that; suspend you in a state where you are incapable of movement or action of any kind, yet your mind will remain aware. You will be chained forever, with nothing but your own special breed of sadistic insanity for company."

The magistrate keyed a few buttons on his personal control panel, activating a holo-emitter built into the floor of the chamber. Overhead, a blue, translucent image of a perfect cube shimmered into view. Its faces were engraved with a multitude of text and symbols; warnings and details of its occupant’s crimes.

"Your new home awaits you."

The Enemy stared at the image, and for the first time, he was silent.

* * *

 "The time is 0600 hours."

"Already?" Captain Kathryn Janeway mumbled in a defeated tone. She rolled over in bed, stuffing her head into the pillow and running over the checklist of potential excuses she could use to avoid getting up. It was the same thought process she'd gone through every morning for the past month or so, and like always, no matter how much she wanted to just lie there, she knew that in the end, it was her duty to be dressed and on the bridge by 0630.

 _It's wrong that I even entertain the possibility,_ she chastised herself. _A starship Captain does not slack off._

With an enormous force of will that seemed to require more and more effort each day, the Captain opened her eyes and forced her petite frame up onto her elbows.

"Lights."

The harsh glare of a starship's interior illumination assaulted her retinas. She could have asked for a dimmer magnitude, but this was the fastest way to wake herself up. Today, just like every other day, Voyager required her to be 100% alert.

Groggily, she made her way to the bathroom, wondering why it had started taking her half the night to actually doze off. It wasn't like sleeplessness was anything new to her, but these recent weeks had been particularly bad.

"Restless," she said the word aloud, her voice rough, realizing it was the best description of how she felt. It wasn't just the lack of sleep, although that was the most obvious symptom; it was everything. No matter where she went, she felt uneasy, like there was something she should be doing or some other place she should be. The area of space they were currently passing through was remarkably quiet, almost boring. There had been nothing of note, either good or bad for...well, for a month.

Janeway felt foolish, even a bit selfish, for seeing that as a negative. After all, no news was good news; a saying which seemed especially true in the delta quadrant since all the news was invariably bad. Still, it didn't sit well with the feisty Captain. She liked to act; whether it was making the first move or reacting to a threat or an opportunity. At least then she was playing an active role in expediting their return to Federation space. This waiting frayed at her nerves, and granted her the one thing she could really do without: time to think.

Not time to think about ship business, she could do with an unlimited amount of that, but time to think about herself; to be introspective. It hadn't always been the case, but Janeway had come to hate looking inwards. She told herself that it was because a Captain couldn't afford to second guess herself. That she must be confident in every aspect of herself for the crew to be able to feel the same. It was true, but that was only part of the reason she disliked introspection so much. The real reason was that it scared her. That was something she wasn't used to and made her extremely uncomfortable. It scared her because every time she looked behind the command mask, every time she checked on Kathryn the woman, and not Janeway the Captain, there was less and less there. It was like the person she'd once been was withering away, until eventually all that would be left was layer after layer of carefully practiced stoicism. She used her Starfleet training to hide her personal emotions from the crew, to allow her to make the tough, sometimes ruthless decisions that were needed to ensure their survival in this hostile quadrant. The problem was that she could see the day approaching when she wouldn't need to hide her inner self because there would be nothing left to hide.

"That's Captain Janeway for you," she murmured to herself, surprised by the bitterness in her voice. "A walking, talking personification of the Starfleet Command Handbook."

Perhaps that was unfair. After all, she'd bent plenty of the rules during their time away from the Federation, and even straight-up broken a few others. While it had taken some time to square those decisions with her conscience, Janeway knew that they had been the right ones. That lack of regret was something that she clung to, like a drowning woman would cling to flotsam in a storm. It was proof that she was still an individual, still able to see beyond the protocol she had memorized and understand the spirit in which it was intended, and when it had to be modified.

An image of her astrometrics officer and former Borg drone, Seven of Nine, flashed involuntarily through her mind. Yes, taking Seven with them had been perhaps her most unorthodox violation of Starfleet protocol. In fact, she'd made a point of reviewing every directive against such an action, in some cases multiple times, as if she was guilty that she didn't feel guilty. Yet all it took was one look at the woman Seven had become, and suddenly all those dry, clinically precise lines of text seemed to melt from her memory. She could never regret what she had done, not even in the immediate aftermath, when Seven had been so alone and scared. Even then, she knew that what she was doing was right, and she was immensely thankful that her faith in the woman had not been misplaced. Watching Seven grow as a person was a wondrous experience.

Whoever wrote the official Starfleet guidelines for interaction with a hostile alien race could never have foreseen Janeway's situation, and could certainly never have envisioned the existence of someone like Seven of Nine. The Borg woman was someone who had to be seen to be believed, in more ways than one. She was brilliantly intelligent, wilfully stubborn, and, perhaps unbeknownst to her, exceptionally beautiful.

Janeway halted her train of thought in its tracks. Whenever she got into these self-analytical moods, her mental wanderings always seemed to lead back to Seven. The woman had become something of an emblem for the Captain, and, perhaps ironically, was also one of the few people she socialized with on a more personal level. Yet, images and memories of the Borg drone brought with them a strange and confusing mixture of emotions, like happiness and nervousness rolled into one. Janeway always forced herself to focus on something else before she could analyse what that meant. Or perhaps, deep down, she knew what it meant, but was too afraid to even peek at the part of her mind which was reckless enough to admit it. She feared what would logically follow, like Pandora and her box. Instead, she wearily crushed Kathryn back down into her small mental cell, locking her away behind the weight of responsibility and duty that she was inescapably sworn to bear on her own. As she did, she felt another tiny piece of that woman die.

"Damn it," she growled, affixing the last of her four golden command pips before striding to the door. "This is why I'm not a morning person."

* * *

 "Captain on the bridge," Commander Chakotay said, turning in his seat as Janeway entered from the turbolift.

"At ease Commander," she replied, having exchanged the exact same words a thousand times before. "Anything to report?"

"Actually, yes, you'll be pleased to hear," the good-natured first officer smiled, relinquishing the Captain's chair. "We've picked up something interesting on the long range scanners. It's still a ways off, so I figured it wasn't anything worth waking you for."

"I see. Interesting how?" Janeway felt her mood lighten somewhat at the news, although it was tempered by the memories of so many other encounters with things she would rather Voyager had avoided.

"I am unsure, Captain," Tuvok, her Vulcan security officer, responded. His brow furrowed almost imperceptibly as he studied the console displaying the sensor data in front of him. "It is an object of some sort, cubic, smaller than Voyager, and artificial in its design. Our sensors are having difficulty penetrating its surface."

"Then how do you know it's interesting?" Janeway was cautious, not wanting to latch onto something irrelevant and divert, or even worse, endanger the ship just to scratch her own personal itch for excitement. Nevertheless, her curiosity was piqued at the news. "Is it a vessel?"

"Unknown, but it shows no signs of a propulsion system. As for its interest value, one might say it is curious because of how unremarkable it is," when Janeway made no move to interrupt, Tuvok continued. "The object barely registers on our scanners. It has a minimal energy signature which is almost undetectable. In fact, it would appear that someone went to great lengths to ensure that it remains undetected. However, a more detailed scan revealed the intermittent emission of extremely high-frequency gamma ray bursts. Had we not been in the process of testing the sensors wavelength response times, we may not have detected it at all. These gamma rays could indicate the presence of a strong power source of some kind, contained within the object, which is being actively shielded."

"How strong are we talking about?"

"It is impossible to be certain at this distance, however I would speculate that it is at least comparable to our warp core."

"I don't suppose we can tell if there are any life signs on board?"

"That is correct, Captain. The shielding is too strong. At close range, our sensors may be able to penetrate the outer hull and get a more reliable reading."

Janeway glanced at Chakotay.

"How far out of our way is it?" she asked. His smirk told her he'd known the question was coming. Well, of course she was going to ask. They couldn't just leave a mystery like this dangling and not expect her to bite.

"Actually, it's almost directly in front of us. At current warp, we'll be within close sensor range in about two days." He replied.

"Well, since it _is_ en-route, I see no reason why we shouldn't pause and investigate. This power source could be valuable; perhaps something we can use if this object is indeed abandoned. At the very least, it will give the crew something to keep themselves busy." Standing up and straightening out her jacket, Janeway headed for her ready room, eagerly anticipating the first coffee of the day. "You have the bridge again, Commander. Keep me informed of any changes.

"Aye, Captain." Chakotay acknowledged.

* * *

Seven of Nine glanced at the upper corner of her work display where a small, flashing indicator alerted her to a communiqué from the bridge. With characteristic Borg efficiency, she opened the document and scanned its length, committing all relevant information to memory. Apparently Voyager would be making a brief stop to examine an artifact of potential scientific interest.

It was welcome news for the young Borg. Boredom was still a relatively new emotion to her, but she had noticed signs of it increasingly frequently during the last couple of weeks. With nothing but empty space in all directions for the foreseeable future, astrometrics had little to do save for routine maintenance and upgrades. And while she derived satisfaction from efficiently carrying out these duties, they did little to challenge or excite her.

"Excitement is irrelevant," she murmured. She didn’t really feel that was true, but convincing herself that it was the case was preferable to being 'bored'.

Of course, there was another, more personal reason that she was grateful for the discovery. She had noticed that these prolonged periods of inactivity usually coincided with increased levels of depression and melancholy within Captain Janeway. For reasons which had so far eluded her, the thought of the Captain...Kathryn, experiencing these emotions seemed to make her feel the same way, something she did not enjoy at all. She recognized it as the human attribute of 'empathy', yet she seemed to respond to the Captain's mood much more than she did with the moods of others.

 _Perhaps my empathy is aberrant,_ she thought, resolving to ask the Doctor about it the next time she was with him.

Resuming her original work, Seven was mildly perturbed to find that she was having difficulty removing images of the Captain from her mind. Her fingers danced across the keys on autopilot as she visualized Janeway; all five and a half feet of her. Yes, there was definitely something...intriguing about the older woman. The truth was, was that it was not just her empathy which behaved abnormally in the Captain's presence. No, it seemed that many of her other human features malfunctioned as well. She recalled their last encounter, when Janeway's simple presence had caused her circulatory and respiratory systems to behave outside of their normal parameters. It was imperceptible to an outside observer, for which Seven was thankful, but her Borg systems catalogued the changes in precise detail.

For some reason, she found herself reconsidering bringing the subject up with the Doctor just yet. It also seemed unwise to mention these responses to Janeway herself, although again, Seven was unsure as to why she thought that. After all, there was very little about her fledgling humanity that she did not share with the Captain. This time though, she felt a desire to keep her thoughts private, at least until she had better categorized them. It was a distinctly...human behaviour. Seven was not sure whether to be pleased or worried at that realization.

Feeling decidedly annoyed at all the uncertainties eroding her efficiency, Seven filed her queries away to be addressed during her off-duty time, and forced herself back to the console, although images of Kathryn still lingered in the back of her head. She would perform some more intense scans of the distant object and see if she could glean any preliminary data about its composition. That should prove to be acceptable to the Captain. The thought of obtaining the older woman’s approval created a pleasant warmness in her abdomen.

 _Perhaps empathy is not irrelevant after all._ Seven thought, her lips quirking in a minute smile as she redoubled her efforts.

* * *

 Captain Janeway reclined in the chair behind her desk, absent-mindedly sipping at a warm cup of her favourite coffee blend as she reviewed some staff reports. It was fairly run-of-the-mill stuff, except for a few points of note. It seemed Ensign Adams had finally proposed to Ensign Foren, and they were now requesting a combined living space.

 _About time._ Janeway chuckled. _She's been telling everyone to expect it for weeks._

It was more good news. A marriage was always a great boost to morale. Seeing love blossom despite the ongoing hardships seemed to make the ship’s situation less bleak. It tended to give people hope that they could one day return to a more normal life, back at home. Janeway also liked to think of it as a sort of passive resistance against every species that had an axe to grind with Voyager. In spite of the best efforts of the likes of the Borg and the Hirogen, Voyager was still going strong, and making the best of what they had.

A side effect of the request was that it would free up a set of quarters, something which hadn't happened for a while. The Captain smiled to herself...she knew just who to give them to. Tapping her communicator, she turned to gaze out of the window at the stars streaking past.

"Janeway to Seven of Nine."

"Yes, Captain," the reply came a second later.

"Are you busy right now, Seven?"

There was a momentary pause, and Janeway could almost see the striking Nordic woman considering her answer, as well as what the question could be implying.

"I have no duties which cannot be temporarily delayed."

"Good," Janeway said, having expected the answer. Astrometrics was probably a ghost town at the moment. "There's something I'd like to discuss with you. Report to my ready room."

"I am on my way, Captain," Seven said, and Janeway could hear the whoosh of astrometrics' automatic doors to prove it.

Of course, discussing her idea with Seven could have waited until after their duty shifts, but Janeway found that she enjoyed having an excuse to see her before then. Once again, she tried not to think too deeply about what that meant.

_She's good company; intelligent, insightful, and even humorous at times. That's all it is._

The Captain was unsure of what Seven's opinion on having her own quarters would be. The Borg woman had never complained about 'living' in cargo bay two, but then again, she rarely tended to express any discomfort, even when she was obviously in pain or upset. As a member of the senior staff, it seemed only fair that Seven should have a private area that she could call her own. Kathryn just wondered why she hadn't considered it sooner.

_Perhaps because the fact that she regenerates in cargo bay two means you can watch her while she sleeps._

Despite quashing that thought as soon as it sprung up, the Captain was still dismayed at the ring of truth it had. Whenever she felt restless, she tended to wander the ship, and her impromptu ramblings had often seemed to end in cargo bay two. It seemed that regardless of whether it was her legs or her mind that went wandering, all roads eventually led back to Seven of Nine.

Janeway was startled from her introspective mood as the very object of her musings entered her ready room. Seven was an exquisite sight to behold; six feet of womanly Borg encased in a silver-grey biosuit which hugged her curves in all the right places, and left only her hands and head visible to the naked eye. She wore her hair in her usual austere bun; an 'efficient' style, she had once told the Captain.

Composing herself, the Captain rose from behind her desk and gestured to the sofas.

"I prefer to stand," came Seven's rote reply.

Sometimes Janeway would insist that the stubborn Borg sat, but today she was hoping that Seven would be willing to agree to something new, so she allowed this small concession, instead perching herself on the back of one sofa to avoid having to crane her neck to look up at the other woman.

"Very well," she acknowledged, before getting straight down to buisness. "Seven, are you aware of Ensigns Adams and Foren's recent engagement?"

The slight look of surprise on the blonde's face indicated that it was not the question she had been expecting.

"I am Captain," she replied a second later. "I have heard numerous crewmembers discussing the occurrence of this ritual."

"Well," Janeway continued, Seven's precise terminology never failing to make her smile fondly, "it may come as no surprise, then, that they have requested to share quarters."

"A logical progression of their relationship," Seven agreed, evidently uncertain as to where this conversation was heading, but willing to go along with her Captain. "In my lessons with the Doctor on human courtship, it was stated that couples often seek co-habitation once their relationship reaches a suitably 'serious' level."

"Quite so," the Captain liked these little guessing games she played with Seven, giving the brilliant Borg a chance to extrapolate what Janeway would say from the scant data she provided. Quite often, Seven would surprise her with something entirely unexpected. This time though, it seemed she needed a few pointers. "I guess you're wondering what this has to do with you," Janeway added, lips quirking in an amused smile.

Seven simply raised an eyebrow, causing her optical implant to quirk quizzically; a signal to proceed.

"Well, with Foren moving in with Adams, there is going to be a set of quarters going spare. I was wondering..." Janeway paused momentarily, thinking how best to phrase the idea. In the end, she settled for straightforwardly; after all, Seven appreciated efficiency above almost everything else. "...I was wondering if you wanted them. It seems only fair, since you don’t have a place of your own."

"Cargo bay two is sufficient…" Seven replied, seemingly not quite understanding.

"Yes, but it's not really a living space. A real, personal, living quarters," Janeway insisted, although she made a point of keeping her voice friendly. After all, she wasn't giving Seven an order; she was merely trying to encourage her further development. "You regenerate there, true, but it is also a public area. Wouldn't you rather have somewhere private, where you can be alone if you wish to be? Besides, there aren't things like a bed or a toilet in the cargo bay."

Seven opened her mouth to speak, but closed it again as she considered the Captain's words.

"It is true that I sometimes feel...uneasy with the fact that others can access my habitation at any time, especially while I am regenerating," Janeway felt a small twinge of guilt, realizing she was probably guiltier of that than any other crewmember. "However I do not require sleep or waste disposal facilities."

"Not yet, but you may develop those needs as more of your dormant human systems reassert themselves," Janeway could tell that she was getting through to Seven, so she pushed on. "Why don't you give it a try? You can see how it goes, and if you end up liking it, we can even arrange to have your alcoves moved there if you like." Hesitating, she added, "As it turns out, the empty quarters are on the same deck as mine, so I'll be on hand if you need any help."

She hadn't been sure whether or not to point out that last fact, since Seven would obviously notice it herself. Then she realized how silly she was being. She'd always made herself available to the young woman before, and now should be no different. Her own conflicting feelings shouldn't factor into that.

Seven seemed to warm to the idea, although whether that was because of Janeway's last sentence or her own internal analysis, the Captain couldn't say.

"Acceptable. When will Ensign Foren be vacating?"

"Not for another week or so yet." Janeway replied. Then before she could help herself, she added. "I'll re-jig the duty roster if I can, to give me some free time to help you 'move in' and get settled."

 _Well, you've said it now._ Janeway groaned. Deep inside her though, Kathryn smiled to herself.

Seven also seemed startled by the offer, but her surprise rapidly disappeared and was replaced with one of her rare but warm smiles.

"Very acceptable."

Kathryn's heart fluttered. She was thankful for the impending examination of the alien artifact. It looked like she'd need some help keeping her mind off of the kind of things her captaincy forbade.

* * *

 She was alone in a solitary pool of light. All around her, blackness stretched away to infinity, and although she could not see beyond the circle she stood in, she knew that there was nothing else out there.

Except for a single figure.

"Captain." Seven said as she stepped into the spotlight. Her voice sounded odd, distorted, as if she was talking through a pane of glass. Her hands were cupped around something Janeway could not see. “I have found what you are searching for."

"You have?" the sentence made inherent sense to Kathryn, yet she was not consciously aware of what thing Seven was referring to. "Show me, darling."

 _Darling?_ A tiny part of her mind questioned in dismay, before it was smothered by the layers of this surreal reality. A warmth filled her body, comforting in its familiarity as she eyed Seven.

The woman approached her, each step of her luxuriously long legs elevating Kathryn's pulse. She could not tell whether she was anticipating the object Seven cradled, or the chance to finally lay hands on her astrometrics officer.

_God, it's been so long._

The Borg stopped a few feet from the Captain.

"Here it is, as you requested."

As Seven revealed what she was carrying, Janeway recoiled in horror, contentment flipping to revulsion in a second. The younger woman held a severed human heart. Impossibly, it was still beating, and with each pulse, fresh spurts of crimson blood flowed from the severed arteries, running over Seven's hands and dripping onto the featureless floor. Only Janeway's training stopped her from vomiting at the unexpected sight.

"What...how...?" As she stumbled for words, the light which illuminated them changed, its colour darkening from white to a shifting mixture of blues and reds which whirled around each other in a maddening frenzy. A piercing noise filled the endless expanse, like a grinding, mechanical foghorn. It reverberated inside Janeway's skull, inside her very mind, forcing her to the ground.

"I-I don't understand," she cried, a sense of overwhelming despair and betrayal filling her, although she did not know where it came from. Tears stung at her eyes, and her vision blurred as she looked towards Seven, suddenly terrified of what she might see. The woman's skin was shifting, rippling and distorting. Then, mirroring the tears which now streamed down Janeway's face, it trickled from her frame like tendrils of quicksilver. Beneath was an alien figure which Kathryn did not recognize, but that instilled a sense of primal fear in her heart.

It seemed to be some form of humanoid male, standing over eight feet tall. His skin was composed of metallic plates, shined to a perfect chrome finish...a synthetic organism, Janeway realized. Four arms emerged from his torso, each ending in a set of vicious, steely talons. As she watched, their eyes met. Twin points of ruby flame burned deep within his eye sockets; baleful and inhuman.

"Captain," he said, echoing Seven's greeting. The words were the same, but the traces of warmth which infused her Borg's voice were gone, replaced with something harsh and soulless. Like the thrumming which had preceded his arrival, his tone was base and mechanical, seeming to come both from his mouth, and from within her own head.

Before Janeway could stand, he was moving, closing the space between them in a few powerful strides. As he did, the claws of one hand seemed to elongate, growing to vicious spikes which now reached towards her. Janeway tried to react, but her limbs felt as heavy as lead and were completely unresponsive. She could only watch in horror as the points plunged into her chest, bringing with them an agony she had never imagined was possible and a dreadful, icy cold.

"You will thank me in time, Kathryn," the artificial man said as he pressed harder, seemingly oblivious to Janeway's cries of pain. "The days ahead hold many surprises, and you will find that physical pain will be the least of your concerns."

By now his whole hand was inside her torso. Kathryn was aware that she should be dead from the injury, yet despite the damages inflicted to her body, it seemed as healthy as ever. The pain was horrific, but more bearable than perhaps it should have been.

"We all have our parts, but who is player, and who is pawn? The answer may not be what you expect."

With a sudden surge of savage strength, the man tore his hand free, severing Janeway's heart and discarding it on the floor next to the other one. The shock it sent through the Captain's body froze her in place, and she watched as the two organs melted away into puddles of midnight-black ink and disappeared through invisible cracks in the ground.

"Time makes a mockery of the mortal form, yet it is my greatest ally. Continue your journey. I will wait, and soon all shall be revealed…if you choose to see it. We shall meet again, and when we do, you shall embrace me as a brother."

The figure receded as Kathryn stumbled forward and the darkness swallowed her whole.


	2. Alexithymia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seven fears she is malfunctioning and seeks the Doctor's advice. But while she learns some unexpected facts that give her hope for the future, Janeway struggles with an issue which has harried her for some time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alexithymia means the inability to adequately express emotions verbally.

_There are some secrets best left uncovered._

_There are some legends best forgotten._

_There are some tombs best left sealed._

_Heed this warning traveller, and be on your way._

_For within lies The Enemy; evil with lidless eyes, and a heart as dark as the void._

\- Eternity Ark Inscription

* * *

 "Regeneration cycle complete."

Seven of Nine opened her eyes, and was greeted with the familiar sight of cargo bay two staring back at her. The twin metal prongs of the alcove disengaged from her lower back, and she lithely stepped down from the dais, immediately going to her work console and activating it. The time was 1745 hours; 15 minutes until her scheduled Velocity match with the Captain.

The sport, played on the holodeck with hand phasers and a virtual disk, was one of the few recreational pastimes Seven indulged in. She found that it provided her with acceptable levels of physical and mental exercise, requiring its players to be both athletic and tactical in their approach. More importantly however, it allowed her to spend more time with the Captain.

Not for the first time, Seven pondered what this meant. Although she had been largely accepted by the Voyager crew, there were still very few of them she would consider 'friends'. Some, like the chief engineer, B'Elanna Torres, were openly hostile towards her. The majority acted indifferent, treating her with politeness and professionalism, yet making no attempt to approach her on a social level. And she could count those that she felt an emotional connection to on one hand. The Captain did not fit neatly into any of these categories however. She respected people like Tuvok and the Doctor, and enjoyed their company (although when it came to the Emergency Medical Hologram, only in small doses), but applying that description to her relationship with Kathryn seemed...insufficient. She wondered if there was a social level above 'friend'. Of course, there was romantic partnership, but since she and the Captain did not engage in any of the customs associated with such a status, that was not a relevant description. Besides, both she and the Captain were female, and therefore they were incompatible for such a relationship.

She did not know why, but that thought produced a strange, unpleasant sensation in her chest.

Consulting her internal chronometer, she realised that she had delayed longer than she should have. She now had only 10 minutes to get to the holodeck. Annoyed that she had lost track of time, even if it was only for a few minutes, Seven hurriedly got ready. She assumed a brisk pace as she left the cargo bay to ensure she reached her destination punctually.

The Captain was not there when she arrived, precisely on the dot of 1800 hours. Seven often wondered why humans would specify a time and then not obey their own directive. Then she had to remind herself that their mental clock was not as efficient as her own. However, Kathryn was never more than a few minutes late, and Seven found that it did not irritate her to the same extent it would with another crewmember. It was just another thing to add to the growing list of exceptions regarding the older woman.

Never one to waste time when she could be productive, Seven picked up where her thoughts had left off minutes ago. Like in astrometrics the other day, she debated whether or not to consult the Doctor, having changed her mind several times already. It was true that he was a medical professional and also her 'official' coach in integrating herself into human society. He was the most logical person to ask about her confusing feelings. Nevertheless, she was also reluctant to share what she felt, finding it too 'personal' to discuss. It was a far cry from her days in the collective, where there so such thing as a private thought and everything was shared freely.

 _Maybe it is possible to employ deception,_ Seven mused, remembering what she had learned about lying and falsifying. In general, it was considered a bad and amoral practice, and not something Seven was comfortable with at all. However, in this case, perhaps she could use a 'white lie' or a 'lie of omission', which she understood were more acceptable. She could talk to the Doctor about her feelings without revealing who they were directed at. He was bound by an ethical code which prevented him from forcing her to reveal more information unless it was essential to her health or the functioning of the ship, which Seven doubted was the case.

Pleased that she had found a potential solution to her quandary, Seven resolved to go to sickbay immediately after the coming match.

"Ah, there you are," came a familiar, smoky voice, and Seven turned to see the Captain approaching down the corridor. "Early, like usual."

"Actually, I arrived at the specified time," the Borg replied. "It is you who are late."

After saying it, she realised that it sounded like an accusation, when in truth, she had simply wanted to correct Janeway's statement. If it bothered the Captain though, she didn't let it show.

"My mistake. I was just making doubly sure the science departments are ready for the examination tomorrow. I trust astrometrics is prepared," Janeway gestured towards the holodeck doors, and they stepped inside.

"Yes, Captain. Sensors are running at peak efficiency. I have calibrated the spectral range to the higher EM bands emitted by the artifact. It should allow our scans to penetrate the outer hull," Seven eyed Janeway as they retrieved their phasers, hoping that the work would meet with her approval.

"Excellent.” The Captain smiled, and Seven felt a small shiver run down her spine. It seemed she had been correct in her assessment that pleasing Kathryn would also please her.

The older woman took her position on the starting square.

"Shall we?"

Seven mirrored the action and readied her weapon.

"Proceed."

"Computer, begin program," Janeway ordered, flashing Seven a quick, challenging smirk before they began their latest confrontation.

* * *

 Just under an hour later, the two women left the holodeck, both sweaty and exhausted from the frantic game they'd just had. However, only Janeway wore the triumphant grin of victory.

"Better luck next time," she said, patting Seven on the shoulder and trying not to sound too condescending.

"I do not understand," the Borg complained. "I am physically superior, yet you continue to defeat me in every match we play. How is this possible?"

Janeway chuckled slightly to herself at Seven's bluntness. Coming from anyone else, that sentence would be the epitome of arrogance. From Seven though, she knew it was just a statement of fact and genuine confusion. Her Borg enhancements did indeed elevate her above an average human, granting her superior strength and reflexes, as well as enhanced mental capabilities, such as her eidetic memory. By all accounts, she should be wiping the floor with the older, smaller Captain. Janeway chalked it up to experience.

"To be honest Seven, I'm not sure. I have been playing the game much longer than you," she replied. "You're definitely getting better though, and the scores are getting narrower each time. I think your first victory can't be too far off."

Janeway was about to continue, when to her dismay, she found herself stifling a yawn.

 _It's that damn insomnia,_ she brooded, remembering the previous evening. It had taken her half the night to fall asleep, and just a few hours after she finally managed it, she found herself waking up, muffling a scream and drenched in cold perspiration. She couldn't remember any of the dream she'd been having beforehand, but it had clearly been unpleasant. After that, her body had simply refused to get comfortable, and she'd only managed to doze lightly until her morning alarm call.

Seven looked at her with concern, which touched Kathryn's heart, but rankled Janeway. She couldn't go around letting her crew know just how tired she was.

"You require regeneration," the Borg said, sounding remarkably like she was ordering the Captain to bed.

"Says the pot to the kettle," Janeway replied, clamping down on her irritation and forcing herself to be pleasant. After all, it was hardly Seven's fault that she wasn't sleeping well.

_Now that you mention it..._

Janeway ignored her inner voice, refocusing her attention on Seven's bemused expression.

"Captain, neither of us are items of kitchenware."

Drawing a blank for a second, Janeway realised Seven was referring to the idiom.

"It's a saying Seven," she said, happy to be back in the familiar territory of educating the younger woman. "Or rather, the shortened version of the saying. 'The pot calling the kettle black.' It means you shouldn't criticise someone about something you're guilty of yourself. I know how lax you can be with your regeneration cycles."

"I did not intend to criticise you Captain." Seven looked shocked at the idea. Ironic, Janeway thought, considering how many times the Borg had disagreed with her in the past.

"No offence taken Seven. I was only teasing."

"'Teasing'," Seven said, as if tasting the word, "I see."

"Good." Janeway searched around for something to say to move the conversation on. "What are your plans now?"

"I am going to report to sickbay," Seven replied matter-of-factly.

"Sickbay?" Janeway fought hard to keep the note of alarm out of her voice. Seven had a nasty habit of springing important things on you when you least expected it. "Are...are you okay? Why didn't you say something sooner?"

"I am fine, Captain," the younger woman said earnestly, although Janeway thought she could detect a hint of uncertainty in her eyes. "I merely wish to consult the Doctor about something of a...personal nature. It concerns my lessons on socialising."

"Oh," the Captain said, immediately regretting assuming the worst. Damn it, why was she so jumpy, especially around Seven? "Oh. I see. Well, I won't pry then; but if you want to talk about it at any point, my door is always open."

 _Perhaps that's going a bit far,_ Janeway thought, remembering the times when Seven had come to her in the middle of the night to discuss some new aspect of humanity she found illogical. The Captain didn't exactly appreciate being woken up in the wee hours of the morning, especially now that her sleep was so disrupted. Nevertheless, she liked to think that her talks with Seven were an important part of the woman's development and integration, and she was loathe to impose any restrictions that might discourage her from coming. She just hoped that Seven had learned enough to realise it was impolite to bother people while they were 'regenerating'.

"Thank you." There was that rare smile again. Janeway could only endure a few seconds before glancing away, disguising the action as a cough.

After a moment of silence that felt awkward to Janeway, but didn't seem to bother Seven, the blonde woman turned to go, apparently deciding that enough had been said. She took a few steps, then suddenly turned back.

"Goodnight, Captain," she said, her voice surprisingly soft; not at all like her usual, clipped manner of speaking.

"Goodnight Seven," Kathryn replied, swallowing; startled and charmed by the pleasantry.

_She's come so far._

Her eyes bored a hole in Seven's back until the Borg had disappeared round a corner and out of view. Only then did Janeway move, heading back to the suddenly miserable thought of her empty quarters and the promise of another sleepless night.

* * *

Seven strode into sickbay, stopping just inside the door and scanning the room for the distinctive teal of a Starfleet medical uniform. As she entered, the Doctor glanced up from where he had been working in his office.

"Ah, Seven, this is an unexpected treat," he exclaimed, closing his workstation. "What brings you to my humble abode?"

The blonde resisted rolling her eyes. She valued the Doctor as a friend, but that did not prevent his mannerisms from annoying her on occasion. Since he had been activated, the Emergency Medical Hologram had been in almost continuous service; far longer than most holograms. Over time, he had developed from his core programming, gaining what was widely recognised as sentience. Unfortunately, he had also developed a somewhat arrogant, pompous demeanour. Seven wondered if those were traits of the man he was based on, or if he had 'evolved' them all on his own. It was an interesting question, but not why she was here.

"Doctor," she greeted evenly. "I have come to seek your advice regarding some of my human systems."

"Is this a medical query?" he said, withdrawing a tricorder and beginning a routine scan.

"I am uncertain," Seven replied honestly. "I have noticed fluctuations in my respiration and heart rate. I have also been experiencing...persistent thoughts that I cannot seem to dismiss."

"Hmm. I'll need a bit more than that to work with." Seven leaned backwards slightly as the Doctor brought the medical probe right up to her face. "When have you noticed these...abnormalities? And for how long have they been occurring?"

Seven considered her response one last time. All the Doctor needed to know was that these symptoms were triggered by the presence of another individual. Surely it did not matter who this individual was, apart from satisfying the Doctor's curiosity? Seven did not like withholding information, but she remembered what Kathryn had told her; that she should 'trust her gut'. Well, this time, her 'gut' was telling her to remain silent on the matter.

"They occur in the presence of another crewmember," she stated, noting the way the Doctor's eyes widened at the statement. "When I am near them, my heart rate elevates, and I occasionally have difficulty breathing. After they have left, images and memories of them linger in my head. They distract me from my work, and although I try to ignore them, I cannot."

The Doctor withdrew his probe, sliding it back into the tricorder. Seven thought it was an illogical thing to do; should he not be scanning for the cause of the problem? Nevertheless, she continued.

"My emotional state is also affected by this individual. I find that I am influenced by their feelings more than those of other people. If they are upset, it upsets me as well, even if there is no cause for my sadness. Similarly, when they are happy, it causes warm sensations in my stomach which my own internal diagnostics cannot identify."

"I see," said the Doctor. He wore an expression which Seven could not interpret.

"How are you going to proceed?" she asked, feeling irritated that she seemingly had to tell the Doctor how to do his job.

"There's nothing I can do," the EMH replied. "At least, nothing physical. This doesn’t sound like a medical problem, Seven."

"Then it is a psychological problem?" the Borg replied, ocular implant rising in concern.

"It's not a problem at all." The Doctor let out a slightly exasperated sigh; clearly meant to prove a point, since he did not naturally breathe. "Seven, whoever this mysterious person is...you've got a crush on them."

"A...'crush'? Explain." Seven cut across him. She could feel her irritation rising. The Doctor was making no sense.

"'Crush'. It means feelings of romantic or sexual attraction towards someone."

Seven made a mental note to contact B'Elanna and have her run a level one diagnostic on the EMH's systems. He must be faulty in some way, because clearly his diagnosis was incorrect. She and Janeway were not compatible romantically, therefore it was impossible that she had developed a 'crush' on the older woman.

"You are mistaken," she said in the meantime. "It is not possible I am attracted to this person."

"I'm afraid the 'symptoms' are quite clear, Seven," he replied, making little inverted commas in the air with his fingers for emphasis. "It's a perfectly natural part of being human. Everyone experiences these feelings all the time."

Seven let his words sink in, and she could feel the colour draining from her face. If he was correct, and she did indeed have a 'crush' on Captain Janeway, then there was something seriously wrong with her. Perhaps her Borg systems were interfering with her brain chemistry. She had to make the Doctor realise this.

"Then I am defective," she stated, her voice trembling slightly.

"Really Seven, that's a rather strong word to use," the Doctor rambled on. "Like I said, it's perfectly normal. I suppose it was inevitable really, sooner or later. I just hope whoever the guy is, he realises his luck. I'm sure he'll be the envy of the..."

"You do not understand!" Seven cut him off, her voice rising. This was urgent; who knew how much danger she was in? The fact that her 'crush' was beginning to intensify could be a sign of a much more severe problem. "It is not natural. The person is…is female."

If she'd thought the Doctor had looked surprised before, it was nothing compared to the expression he wore now. He opened his mouth, but didn't seem to have anything to say.

 _It must be a really serious defect to render him speechless._ Seven thought. She was scared, and found herself wishing Kathryn was there, despite the Captain apparently being the root of her problem.

After a few long moments, the Doctor seemed to compose himself, although now he suddenly seemed fascinated by the wall just to the right of Seven's head, and refused to meet her eyes.

"Oh...Well...I, er, I see."

"Then you understand the severity of the situation. You must locate the source of the defect immediately."

"Seven...there is no defect," if she didn't know him better, Seven could almost think the Doctor looked...embarrassed? "That...That's also perfectly normal. People can be attracted to members of the same sex."

"But you stated that romantic partnerships are formed between a man and a woman," Seven could feel her panic recede, since clearly the Doctor did not think she was in any danger. It was quickly replaced by confusion. Apparently she was lacking knowledge of some important variables.

"Well, yes, often that is true. However, it's not quite as simple as that, something which I perhaps...neglected...to mention before."

" _Perhaps_ you should _mention_ it now." Seven fixed the EMH with an icy stare.

"Very well," the Doctor heaved another dramatic sigh, and Seven had to resist the urge to expedite his explanation with her fist. "Seven, throughout human history, there has always been a minority which is attracted to members of the same sex, or to members of both sexes. For whatever reason, this used to be frowned upon. However, it has been an accepted part of society for many decades now. About ten percent of people identify themselves as either homosexual or bi-sexual."

"Why did you not inform me of this during my lessons on romance and dating? Why did you not include females in my lists of potentially suitable partners?"

"It...It didn't seem...necessary," the Doctor said lamely. "Statistically, you would only be attracted to men...I didn't think...I didn't realize it would be relevant."

"Clearly your assumption that this information would be irrelevant was incorrect."

"I see that now," the EMH looked like he was about to formulate another excuse, then all of a sudden, he deflated, apparently deciding that this wasn't something he could bluster his way out of. "I am sorry, Seven. I just wanted to keep things simple for you; not overload you with too many options at once. It seemed easier to stick to men, and it improved your chances of success. After all, if only one in ten women are, well, gay, then that limits your options."

"Is sexual preference a choice?" Seven relented a bit, although she was still angry that the Doctor had decided to withhold information from her that was potentially vital to her success romantically.

"No...no, it's not." The Doctor sighed again, but this time it was more contrite than exasperated. "It's just a part of who you are. It can take people time to figure out what their preference is, but they can’t choose to change it."

"So if a woman is attracted to men, they will not take a female partner?" Seven's thoughts immediately turned to Kathryn. The Captain had not been romantically involved with anyone since they became lost in the delta quadrant, but Seven knew she had been engaged to a male, before the man in question had terminated the relationship.

"Well, these things are never quite that clear cut. Perhaps she has the potential to be attracted to women, but just hasn't found the right one yet. Honestly, it's more to do with the individual than the gender. People have preferences, but they can change on a case-by-case basis, if the attraction is strong enough."

Seven was surprised by the Doctor's words. He was not usually so straightforward and honest with his explanations. Perhaps he was attempting to 'make-up' for his mistake in not informing her of these details sooner.

This gave her hope.

"Very well. How do I ascertain whether this individual is agreeable to a same-gender coupling?" Now that she was aware of the possibility for her and Kathryn to engage in a romantic relationship, her feelings made a lot more sense.

"I, uh, well, it depends," the EMH ventured tentatively. "Who is it?"

Seven had known the question was coming. Now that she understood better, however, she was even more determined not to reveal the identity of her 'crush'. She did not want anyone to be aware of it yet, especially not the Captain, who had a habit of finding out every piece of public information on the ship sooner or later.

"I would prefer not to say."

"I guessed as much. Well, Seven, I'm afraid that I'm probably not the best person to ask. I may have many skills, but this isn't one of them. Perhaps you could ask the Captain? She's been able to help you in the past."

"I do not believe the Captain will be able to help me with this matter," Seven replied, noting the irony of the statement.

"In that case, I guess you'll just have to figure it out yourself." The Doctor smiled, although it seemed rather forced. "Was there anything else?"

"That is all I require at this time," Seven nodded at the Doctor, before adding. "Thank you for your assistance. However, in the future, you will discuss all possibilities with me, and allow me to decide which pieces of information are relevant myself."

"Yes, of course."

"Acceptable," Seven left sickbay, her mind whirling with questions and ideas. The possibility of same-sex partnerships had revitalised her interest in romantic relationships, which she had previously dismissed after finding no acceptable matches among Voyager's crew. It appeared she had been looking in the wrong place. Unbidden, images of Kathryn came to mind, but this time she did not try to suppress them.

Usually, even when she was off duty, Seven would spend her free time in Astrometrics, working on whatever project currently occupied her or finding ways to improve the efficiency of the sensor systems. Now though, she had a new project of an entirely different nature, and instead, she headed back to cargo bay two. There was much research to be done.

* * *

 As soon as the doors to her quarters had shut, Kathryn threw herself down on the sofa, allowing a small groan of frustration to escape her lips.

_This isn’t going to go away, is it?_

She had been dancing around the subject for so long, avoiding it like the plague and hoping it would simply vanish. When that hadn’t worked, she’d tried suppressing it, stuffing her feelings deep into her mind, and slamming her command mask down over top, like trying to cram an extra pair of shoes into an already bulging suitcase. Now each time she so much as looked at the young Borg, she could feel herself fraying at the seams, and she knew it was only a matter of time before something gave way. Possibly her sanity.

_It’s time to face facts. You lo-_

She stopped herself, instinctively cutting off the line of thought before she even realised what she was doing.

 _Have I really conditioned myself that much?_ She thought sadly. _Not to show any signs of humanity? Not to even think like a human?_

Bringing a hand up to her aching temples, Janeway massaged them as best she could. It did little to alleviate the pressure which was threatening to split her skull open. Was it any wonder she wasn’t sleeping well? Carrying around all this pent-up emotion couldn’t be good for her.

 _It’s not about what’s good for you; it’s about what’s good for the ship._ Janeway reminded herself. _The crew needs you to be something more than human. You have to remain impartial and aloof, otherwise it will compromise your ability to make the right decisions._

 _And is it really good for the ship to have a Captain who’s so dog tired she can barely drag herself out of bed in the morning?_ Kathryn retorted. _To have a Captain so lonely she’s beginning to lose her mind? How can you make the right decisions for the individuals of this ship if you can’t even make the right decisions for yourself?_

_You have made the right decision! There are some things you must be prepared to sacrifice as Captain. You are responsible for Voyager and its crew. That doesn’t leave room for anything or anyone else._

_This is more than a crew and you know it. We aren’t in the alpha quadrant. Like it or not, we are a family now, and cutting yourself, your true self, off from everyone else harms your position, it doesn’t strengthen it. You’ve already made a dozen compromises, especially when it comes to her. What’s so different about making one more? What’s so difficult in allowing yourself to love her?_

“So I do love her,” Janeway murmured. There was no sense in trying to deny it. She did love Seven, and she had done so for a very long time.

What did this mean? Did acknowledging it change anything? She’d been so afraid of speaking or even thinking the words, yet now that they were said, she realised she’d known it all along. It seemed almost laughable that she hadn’t admitted it to herself sooner.

The question now, was what should she do about it?

 _Nothing,_ Janeway thought sternly.

 _Because that’s worked well so far,_ Kathryn snapped at herself sarcastically. _You can’t just choose not to love someone. And ignoring and denying it has only made things worse. How much longer can you keep this up and still function as a Captain, much less a thinking, feeling individual? If you care so much about this ship, you owe it to yourself to do whatever it takes to ensure you are at your best. And if that involves loving six feet of gorgeous, blonde Borg, so much the better._

 _It would undermine my position with the crew._ Janeway wasn’t backing down without a fight. _Family or not, I am still their leader. They have to trust that I will make decisions that are in the best interests of this ship. If you love Seven, how can they be sure you aren’t acting out of personal interests? How can they be sure you won’t treat her preferentially? They will lose their trust and respect for you._

_You already treat her preferentially, you idiot. Can’t you see that? She’s the only one you spend time with on a regular basis for anything besides ship business. She’s one of the few people ever to set foot in your quarters. You constantly bend the rules for her. And does anyone begrudge it? No. Do you think B’Elanna’s engineering team distrusts her because of her relationship with Paris?_

_That’s different and you know it._

_Perhaps, but it doesn’t change the fact that the crew want every member of this ship to be happy, including you. They-_

_It’s irrelevant anyway._ Janeway smiled wryly, suddenly changing tack. _Even if you do love her, what are the chances Seven feels the same? She’s never shown real interest in any kind of romantic relationship before. No doubt she sees it as irrelevant. And even if she doesn’t, do you honestly think she’d want you? Someone twice her age, with all the burdens and responsibilities of command. Face it, she sees you as a mentor and nothing more._

Kathryn could come up with no argument against that. Her Captain’s sensibilities spoke the soul-crushing truth. Whether or not she loved Seven, and whether or not she admitted it to herself or anyone else, at the end of the day, it was still a moot point. Seven could never love her back. As a mother figure maybe…

_But not the way I love her._

Janeway should have felt triumphant. She’d successfully quashed Kathryn’s voice once again. Without it, she could go back to being what the crew expected her to be; what they demanded she be.

So why did she feel so hollow? Why did her insides ache, like someone had sucker-punched her in the gut? Why…

Why was she crying?

_Oh God._

Try as she might, she couldn’t stop the steady stream of tears which had begun to flow. All she could do was, with a sniffly and trembling voice, order a privacy lock on her door and communicator. Once that was done, she just lay on the couch, crying silently until the grey haze of sleep eventually came and stole her troubled mind away.


	3. Sayuri Yoshida

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Voyager arrives at the anomaly, and a young and unassuming Ensign is surprised to find herself assigned to the initial survey team. The mission is simple, but what they discover defies all expectations.

There was a palpable feeling of excitement on the bridge, which bustled with more activity than it had seen for many months. After weeks of chomping at the bit with nothing to do, Voyager’s crew were eager for action of any kind. Janeway had ordered all her senior staff and the heads of each department to the alpha shift in preparation for their rendezvous with the artifact. If everything went smoothly, she’d need their practical and scientific expertise to help investigate the strange object, and if things went badly…well, she wanted her best and brightest on hand to help keep Voyager in one piece.

“Thirty seconds to visual range,” Tom Paris called out, his fingers dancing across the helm controls as he prepared to bring Voyager back to below light speed.

“Once we’re there, slow to one-half impulse and bring it up on the main viewer.” Janeway smiled, enjoying herself despite the fatigue in her bones. She’d slept poorly again last night, although this time it was probably due to the fact that she’d drifted off on the couch rather than in her bed. The achy back and sore limbs that had greeted her when she awoke were also painful reminders that she wasn’t as young as she used to be. Nevertheless, the potential for scientific discovery had lightened her mood, and allowed her to temporarily put her personal problems on the back burner. Here, on the bridge, she was in her element, and even the sight of Seven at the aft science station, as beautiful as ever, had not quite been enough to shake her.

“Three…two…one.” Tom disengaged the engines, and the streaks of white on the bridge viewscreen resolved once more into individual stars. Voyager shuddered slightly as they dropped out of warp, its hull creaking as it settled into their new speed.

Off in the distance was a barely visible shape. Janeway could only distinguish it by the stars it blocked from view.

“Magnify,” she ordered, and the image on the screen jumped closer.

The artifact was a perfect cube, made of what appeared to be a dull, dark metal. Symbols adorned its surface, but nothing Janeway could immediately recognise. It tumbled end over end, seemingly drifting at random with no means of propulsion.

“How big is it Tuvok?” she asked, glancing at her security officer who manned the tactical station.

“The cube is slightly larger than one of our shuttlecraft. It measures approximately ten metres in each dimension.”

“Are you able to get a clear scan of its interior?” Until they could ascertain what was inside, there was no way to know how safe it was.

“Negative, we are not yet close enough. We will need to be within five kilometres, although I cannot guarantee a result.”

“Take us in Mr Paris,” Janeway turned back to the viewscreen, eyes fixed on the prize. “But be ready to get us out of here at a moment’s notice. We’ve had too many run-ins with hostiles for me to be sure this won’t be another.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Seven,” Janeway said, thankful that the Borg’s position meant she wasn’t expected to turn and look at her. She needed to be focused for this. “Those markings on the surface. Do they match anything the Borg have encountered before?”

“The Borg do not keep records of the written languages of the races they assimilate,” Seven replied with characteristic precision and efficiency. “However they do retain images of space vessels for the purpose of visual identification. This ‘craft’ and its insignias do not match any design known to the Collective.”

“The hull appears to be some sort of tritanium composite alloy mixed with whatever it is that’s blocking our sensors,” Harry Kim interjected from the navigation console. “Whoever built this, they built it to last.”

“That would imply its creators had a level of technology comparable to our own,” Tuvok added.

“Indeed.” Janeway nodded. They had to be careful. People in the Delta quadrant tended to get annoyed when you interfered with their stuff. “Seven, did astrometrics chart any inhabited systems in the vicinity?”

“No, Captain. This area of space is mostly deserted, with the nearest star systems composed exclusively of gas giants. It seems improbable that the object originated near here.”

“We’ll be able to find out soon enough.” Tom said. “We’re clearing the five kilometre threshold now.”

“Hold position.” Janeway stood up, wincing imperceptibly at the tension in her spine.

“Aye, Ma’am, full stop.”

“Tuvok?” the Captain asked, waiting for him to report on the results of the sensor sweep. After a few moments, the Vulcan nodded.

“Our sensors are able to reach the interior, owing to Seven’s modifications.”

Janeway smiled instinctively, and sensed, rather than saw, Seven do the same. She didn’t dare turn to face the other woman.

 _You’ve got it bad._ Kathryn chuckled. _Can she really undo you with just a smile? Whatever happened to the aloof, inhuman Captain Janeway?_

The Captain ignored her persistent internal voice. Although she’d managed to talk herself down last night, that moment of weakness had given new strength to her more personal desires, and it was getting harder to shut them out. Pointedly, she focused on Tuvok’s report.

“I am reading no life signs, however we were correct; there is a considerably strong power source within. It appears to be segregated into two distinct parts, however I cannot discern what it is powering. The cube does not possess weapon systems, shields, or life support.”

“Is it dangerous?”

“I do not believe so,” Tuvok responded. “The power source is stable, and the radiation we detected is not inherently harmful. There is some form of computer system on board, however it is impossible to determine more without a direct interface.”

“Direct interface? You’re saying we should bring it onto the ship?” The idea sounded crazy, but then, Tuvok was always logical in his assessment. Janeway reminded herself that this knee-jerk reaction to the unknown was simply the result of the many bad experiences they’d had in this quadrant; a distinctly emotional response that Tuvok did not share. It was true that, if there was no danger to the vessel, it would be easier to study the device on board rather than remotely.

“Caution is paramount, but if we wish to learn more about the object, it will be necessary.”

Janeway weighed the pros and cons in her mind. This wasn’t a decision to be taken lightly, and not one that she should dictate by herself.

“We need to draw up a plan of action,” Janeway tapped her comm-badge and opened up a ship-wide channel. “All senior staff, report to the conference room.”

* * *

 Once the last of her officers had sat down and the chatter had died away, Janeway rose from her chair, and activated the table’s holo display. A 3D image of the cube appeared, slowly rotating; enigmatic and inscrutable.

“I’m sure you’re all aware of the alien artefact we have stopped to investigate,” she began, looking around and seeing a few nodding heads. “We have made visual contact and performed an initial sensor sweep. As far as we can tell, the object is abandoned. There are no inhabited systems for many light-years, and no life signs from the object itself. However, on board, we have detected a strong power source and computer systems of an unknown purpose. There are also inscriptions on the faces of the object that are unfamiliar, but appear to be writing of some kind.”

Pausing momentarily to make sure everyone was up to speed, she continued.

“We have learnt as much as we can from here. Our sensors are able to penetrate the shielding but only to a limited degree. The way I see it, we now have two options. We can continue, leaving the artefact where it is, or, we can bring it on board for further study.” Sitting back down, Janeway steepled her fingers, and let her words sink in. “So, people, opinions and ideas. Let’s hear them.”

B’Elanna was the first to speak.

“Practically speaking Captain, even if we do intend to bring this…thing onto the ship, where are we going to put it? It’s too big to transport.”

“Well, the shuttle bay is just about the only place we can put it then,” Tom said. “It should be able to fit through the doors, and there’s enough space in the empty docking cradle to store it.”

“Yeah but, can we do this?” Harry asked nervously. The young man was still rather green around the edges, and was sometimes reluctant to speak up in staff meetings. “I mean, it may be abandoned, but it’s not ours. Doesn’t taking it go against the Prime Directive?”

“Technically, yes,” Janeway replied, sensing that this wasn’t going to be as clear cut as she first thought. “And in the alpha quadrant, no doubt a dedicated science vessel would be dispatched to investigate the artefact where it lies. Unfortunately, we are not equipped for such a task nor do we have the luxury of being able to stop for long. We’ll have to take it with us if we think there’s something to be learned from it.”

“The extra power source could definitely be useful, regardless of anything else,” B’Elanna added. “Assuming it’s safe and I can find a way to integrate it into Voyager’s systems. I’d need to study it further to be sure.”

“ _Assuming_ it’s safe,” Chakotay cut in. “Tuvok, would this thing be a danger to Voyager if brought on board? Do we even know enough about it to be sure?”

“As I said before, the power source is stable; however there are always potential risks,” the Vulcan replied impassively. “We would need to take every precaution possible to ensure the safety of this vessel. Were it to be brought on board, we would need to maintain a level ten force field around it at all times as well as a constant security detail, until we are able to ascertain that it does indeed pose no threat.”

“That’s a big drain on resources,” Chakotay said, scratching the tribal tattoo on the side of his head; a gesture he tended to make when he was pensive or nervous. “Is it worth it? Curiosity aside, we have to think how this would benefit Voyager, and aside from the extra power, we don’t know if this cube has anything useful.”

“The cube would have been constructed for a purpose,” Seven pointed out, glancing at the Captain. “A species intelligent enough to create such a device would not do so for no reason. It is possibly a probe, in which case, it may contain valuable astrometric data.”

It was a good point, although Janeway resisted saying as much. The past couple of days had made her wary of how she acted around Seven. She was very cognizant of how much she favoured the young woman sometimes, and she was suddenly nervous of what the other members of her senior staff thought about it.

“Captain. There may be a way around this,” Tom’s brow furrowed as he worked over an idea in his head. “We’re assuming we have to bring the cube to us, but what if we went to it? I could take a small science team with pressure suits out on the runabout. If Voyager could tractor beam the cube, they may be able to land on it and get a closer look. That way, we could see if it seems dangerous or not and if it’s worthwhile bringing it with us for further study.”

“A logical suggestion,” Tuvok agreed, his eyebrows rising slightly as if he were surprised that the idea had come from Paris.

Janeway mulled it over. It minimised the risk to the ship, and it would give them a better idea of what they were dealing with.

“Very well. I think that’s our best bet, unless anyone has any objections?”

When no one spoke up, she continued.

“Okay. Tom, I want you to pilot the shuttle. Tuvok, you go too and do a thorough risk assessment of the device. B’Elanna, Seven, I want you two in charge of the science team. Consult with the relevant group heads and get their suggestions on which officers are the most qualified to take with you. No more than five; let’s keep this expedition as small as possible until we’re sure it’s safe. Once we know more, we can decide whether or not to bring it onto the ship.”

Janeway hesitated about assigning Seven to the team. There was always a certain degree of risk involved in any initial away mission; crew members had been severely injured, and even killed before. She didn’t doubt Seven’s abilities for a moment, but there was so much that could go wrong; that was out of their hands and impossible to predict until the worst had already been done. The idea of that happening to Seven was…she didn’t think she could live with the guilt if her orders resulted in the young woman’s death.

Which was a big problem.

She was the Captain, and she couldn’t let her fondness for the Borg override the fact that Seven was one of the most obvious choices to send. Her technical and scientific knowledge would be invaluable during the initial assessment.

 _That’s why you can never be with her._ Janeway repeated to herself. _It would distort your command perspective._

 _It already has._ Kathryn pointed out.

Clearing her throat, the Captain addressed the room again, hoping to shift her mind back to the situation at hand and away from her beguiling astrometrics officer.

“Alright people, let’s get to work. I want the shuttle ready to go within two hours. Dismissed.”

* * *

 Ensign Sayuri Yoshida gulped, swallowing down her apprehension and clutching her case full of data padds nervously as she entered the shuttle bay. From her position on the raised catwalk, the voluminous room looked like a great insect hive, with crewmembers bustling about all over the place in preparation for the shuttle’s launch. She paused, trying to pick out the rich blue of the other science team members’ uniforms amongst the crowd. After thirty seconds of fruitless searching, she finally located them, right next to the runabout. It looked like they were getting prepped to embark.

_Damn it, I’m already late._

The diminutive woman hurried along the walkway, forgoing the wait for the elevator in her haste, and instead opting to take the ladder. It immediately occurred to her that she may have made a mistake, as she tried desperately to keep the case she carried from slipping out from under her arm while she climbed awkwardly down. She’d nearly made it to the bottom when it worked loose.

“Ah!” she cried, trying to catch it again with her one free hand and somehow managing to get her limbs tied in a knot. With all the dignity of a beached whale, she fell the length of the last couple of rungs, landing on her back with enough force to knock the air from her lungs. At the same time, the case she’d been carrying impacted against the deck with an almighty crash, spilling padds everywhere and drawing the alarmed gazes of most of the crew in the room.

_Oh god._

Sayuri jumped to her feet as quickly as she could, breathless and blushing furiously. Her embarrassment only intensified when she looked up to see that the nearest crewmember was none other than Commander Tuvok, who was now regarding her with the same sort of scrutiny with which he might have observed an alien insect.

“Ensign Yoshida, are you injured?” he enquired, approaching her while carefully avoiding the padds which covered the floor.

“N-No Sir,” she mumbled, having extreme difficulty meeting his eye, yet knowing it would be rude and unprofessional to look away.

“Very well. Once you have…recovered your personal items, report to shuttle dock two. We will be departing in ten minutes.”

“Yes Sir,” she said quickly, already stooping over and grabbing the nearest padds, stuffing them back into her case as fast as she could. She could feel her cheeks burning red hot under the Vulcan’s gaze.

Tuvok turned to go, before adding.

“I trust you will display more coordination during your examination of the alien artefact.”

Feeling like she was back in her first day at the academy, all Sayuri could do was nod mutely. It seemed to be enough for Tuvok, who left to join the others at the shuttle.

 _Way to make a good first impression._ She thought, feeling something akin to disgust, directed at herself. _Late and clumsy. Commander Tuvok must think really highly of you._

The Vulcan security officer had always scared her, or perhaps it was Vulcans in general. They were so impassive, yet it always seemed that they could tell everything about you from the briefest of glances. Around Tuvok, she felt like she was wearing a giant neon sign that listed all her inadequacies and failings. Now she had probably just confirmed his suspicions.

Needless to say, it had been something of a shock when she’d been told to report to the shuttle bay and suit up. Being picked for the away mission was the last thing she had expected. Normally, the only times she got to leave the ship were during shore leave, or on a particularly big scientific expedition where all the science officers were needed. Now, she was part of a select team of the five ‘most qualified’ individuals on the ship. She wouldn’t be surprised if it was some kind of mistake. Perhaps her personnel file had been mixed up with someone else’s; Lieutenant Parker’s for instance.

Grabbing the last of the padds, she was dismayed to find that her rush in returning them to the case meant she was unable to shut it. There was no time to take them all out again now though. Feeling her blush return full force, Sayuri picked up the case and hugged it to her chest to prevent it from bursting open, then half-walked/half-ran to the others.

When she arrived, the rest of the team were already pulling on their pressure suits, with the exception of Tom Paris who would be sealed in the cockpit for the duration of the mission. They acknowledged her arrival with a few nods, but nothing more. Sayuri was used to that. She wasn’t exactly the most social person in the world, and was the only person there from her department; xenobiology. Aside from the other science officers, there was B’Elanna Torres and, Sayuri felt her stomach spasm slightly in panic, Seven of Nine.

If there was one person on board who scared her more than Tuvok, with the possible exception of the Captain herself, it was Seven of Nine. The ex-Borg possessed the same, unnerving perceptiveness that Vulcans displayed, but whereas Tuvok seemed completely unfazed by everything, Seven seemed actively critical. On the few occasions she and Sayuri had worked together, she had been able to sense the Borg’s acute annoyance at everything she did. It was no secret that Seven disliked working with others, preferring to do things in her own, more ‘efficient’ way; a fact which apparently brought her into frequent conflict with the Captain. Sayuri wondered how formidable Janeway must be when angry, if she was able to outmatch Seven in a battle of wills.

“Ensign Yoshida,” the blonde said impassively, fixing Sayuri with a gaze which made her feel about two inches tall. “You should consider practicing your punctuality.”

“Sorry, Ma’am. I-It won’t happen again,” Sayuri wondered just how often she’d be apologising on this mission. Probably a lot.

The Borg woman had finished donning her spacesuit, and now stood in her customary pose; at rigid attention with her hands clasped firmly behind her back. At her full height, she towered over the smaller Asian woman by a full foot.

“Let us hope not. Do not make me withdraw my recommendation that you accompany us on this mission.”

“You put my name forward?” Sayuri blurted out before she could stop herself.

Seven regarded her quizzically.

“Indeed. You are a specialist in xenobiology, with additional expertise in xenolinguistics, are you not?”

“Y-Yes,” Sayuri said uncertainly, thankful that her sudden outburst hadn’t drawn a reproach from Seven. “But…last time we worked together…you didn’t like…that is to say…you didn’t seem to find me satisfactory…Ma’am.”

Sayuri’s eyes almost burst out of their sockets in surprise when Seven looked away, cheeks colouring imperceptibly with…embarrassment?

“I believe I may have been mistaken,” the Borg woman said stiffly. “After consulting with the Captain and reviewing your work, I found it…acceptable.”

Sayuri had no idea what to make of any of what she’d just seen, but she was glad to hear that Seven didn’t just consider her dead weight. Before she could say anything more however, the rest of the group started making their way onto the shuttle. Seven nodded at her, and followed the others, as Sayuri put her case on the floor and quickly scrambled to get her suit on.

_What just happened?_

Seven had been…nice, at least by the Borg’s standards. She’d also admitted to making a mistake. That was very different to how Sayuri remembered her from the last time they’d worked together. Then again, that had been at least six months ago. It seemed that Seven was continuing to adapt to her humanity, and Sayuri suddenly felt a pang of compassion for the other woman. She had never disliked Seven per-se, but she had seen her as utterly intimidating and unapproachable. Perhaps that was beginning to change.

Quickly, she finished doing up her suit, grabbed her case, and rushed onto the shuttle just before the doors began to close. Taking the last available seat, she fastened the harness over her chest, and let out a brief sigh of relief. All she had to do for the next ten minutes was sit still. Even she couldn’t screw that up, right? There was a quiet murmur of excitement throughout the shuttle, as everyone eagerly anticipated what they were about to find. Sayuri couldn’t help but feel a bit exhilarated too, despite her nerves. Even though she felt out of her depth among all these strangers and superior officers, she could still feel the lure of the unknown calling to her. This was, after all, exactly what she had signed up for.

“Helmets everybody,” B’Elanna said, and the chatter was replaced with the clicks and hisses as people locked their headgear into place and suits pressurised.

Sayuri could hear faint conversation from the cockpit as Tom Paris reported to the Captain. Then, with a jolt, the shuttle lifted off the deck, and they were away.

_To boldly go where no terrified young science officer had gone before._

* * *

 Seven regarded the young officer across from her; Ensign Sayuri Yoshida. She was a short, lean woman of Japanese descent, with straight, shoulder-length, raven-black hair and, to coin a phrase that Kathryn had used once, big ‘doe eyes’. Before, the physical appearance of the Ensign would have been irrelevant, but since her talk with the Doctor, and the revelation that it was okay to be attracted to the same sex, Seven had spent a great deal of time re-assessing the female members of the crew, and documenting her body’s reaction.

Many of them were attractive, and Seven considered that Ensign Yoshida could fall into that category. Her high cheekbones, button nose, and timid, hazel gaze were all aesthetically pleasing. Yet, like with others she had deemed acceptable, she found herself unable to reproduce the emotions which she felt when she looked at the Captain. It appeared then, that there were two forms of attraction; physical, which depended solely on the individual’s body structure and facial features, and emotional, which was influenced by the individual’s personality or some other, unknown factor that Seven was not aware of. It was the only explanation for why she considered females like Ensign Yoshida attractive, but did not feel the urge to copulate with them like she did with Kathryn; at least, not to the same degree. The same was true of B’Elanna Torres. That also demonstrated that it was possible for physical attraction to exist without any form of emotional compatibility, since her and the half-Klingon were almost always…’disagreeing’ seemed too mild a term.

Perhaps she could use this shuttle ride to gather some data. She had done some research on Voyager, but she needed more practical experience in how to approach others on a romantic level. The science officer opposite her seemed a suitable starting point.

“Ensign Yoshida,” she began, remembering the importance of manners, especially when dealing with someone she did not know well. “May I ask you a question?”

The younger woman looked at her with surprise; a common expression for her, Seven noted.

“Yes Ma’am, what do you want to know?” her voice was muffled by her helmet, or perhaps she was just speaking quietly. Seven had observed that the Ensign was often ‘shy’, and reluctant to talk unless addressed directly.

“Are you attracted to females?” Seven asked.

Sayuri continued to demonstrate her impressive ability to modify the colour of her facial skin. This time, it turned pale, although a rosy still hue clung to her cheeks and neck.

“I…I…Ma’am, I…” she stammered. Seven observed the phenomenon with interest. Would Kathryn behave the same when she approached her?

“W-Why do you want to know…Ma’am?” Sayuri finished eventually, glancing around the cabin furtively. Seven noted that they were separated enough from the others that their conversation would be inaudible over the sound of the engines.

“I am trying to ascertain an acceptable manner for discovering this information,” Seven explained. “Was my query sufficient?”

“I…well, it was a bit, erm…blunt.” Sayuri seemed very uncomfortable. Seven did not understand why. She had simply asked a question.

“Does this inquiry trouble you?” she asked. If it did, then perhaps she would have to reconsider her method for approaching Kathryn.

“It’s…it’s quite a private topic. M-Most people may feel uncomfortable talking about it.”

“Why? Is attraction to the same gender a cause for embarrassment?” Seven got the feeling that, like with so many other aspects of socialisation, there was more to this than she had originally anticipated. Why did humans persist on making their interactions so inefficient?

“N-No, not at all Seven, uh, Ma’am,” the Ensign squirmed in her seat. “People just like to keep their private lives, um, private. I-I mean, if you have to ask, then it’s not public knowledge, which means the person probably wants to keep that side of their life to themselves.”

“I see,” Seven grimaced slightly. This was a setback. It appeared she would have to ascertain Kathryn’s preferences through some means other than directly asking. “So you do not wish to tell me if you are attracted to females.”

“W-Well, if you must know.” Ensign Yoshida’s face turned a darker shade of red, and Seven wondered if the woman might have some form of circulatory problem. “I…I have been, in the past.”

“So do you identify yourself as heterosexual or homosexual?” Seven felt like she was making progress. If Ensign Yoshida tended to be attracted to males, but had in the past been attracted to females, it was proof that such an outcome was theoretically possible for her and Kathryn.

“I’ve never really thought about it.” Sayuri frowned. “I mean…I don’t think it makes that much difference. I-If you like someone, then you like them, regardless of gender.”

“I understand. And did these women return your attraction?” Seven pressed on.

“No…I don’t know. I-I never asked them,” Sayuri’s eyes were downcast, and Seven got the impression that she had upset the other woman, although again, she was not sure how. “If I had to guess though, probably not. I don’t think they ever even noticed me.”

Seven was about to say more when Tuvok’s voice cut through the cabin.

“Perform final suit checks. We are nearing the target.”

* * *

 Sayuri was glad of the sudden bustle of activity, as everyone double checked their pressure seals and gathered their equipment. Her conversation with Seven had been awkward to say the least, and was heading into territory she didn’t like to visit too often. Namely her own non-existent love life.

_Maybe it was better when she simply found me a nuisance._

That wasn’t really fair, Sayuri thought. The ex-Borg was clearly still unsure about a great many things. Sayuri herself had difficulty socialising and fitting in, and she’d had a whole lifetime to practice, whereas Seven had only had a few short years. If she could help the other woman, she should, regardless of how embarrassing it might be. At least Seven had made the effort to speak to her about something other than ship business, unlike pretty much everyone else.

Tuvok approached the rear hatch of the shuttle craft, magnetic boots clanking as they engaged and disengaged from the hull.

“Release harnesses and attach safety lines,” he said, switching to the comm to issue orders to everyone clearly.

Sayuri did as she was told, struggling to keep a lid on the butterflies in her stomach. Although she was certified for zero-gravity, extra-vehicular work, this would be the first time she’d done so outside the holodeck. Of course, the chances of anything going wrong were minimal, and even if she did somehow come loose, Voyager could simply beam her back aboard. She tried to remember that, although it wasn’t quite enough to quell her irrational fear.

Seven glanced at her, and Sayuri realised she had been breathing rather loudly in an effort to stay calm.

“Do not be concerned Ensign,” the Borg said, and Sayuri swore she could detect an edge of softness to her otherwise hard tone. “Based on the available data, I have calculated our odds of termination to be as low as 1.3%.”

“Wow. 1.3%? That little, huh?” Sayuri didn’t feel particularly reassured, but she appreciated Seven’s effort to comfort her. It was another surprise, coming from someone who had previously deemed all emotion irrelevant. The thought was what counted, although next time, perhaps Seven could steer clear of using words like ‘termination’.

“I’ve got us as close to the artifact as I can,” Tom’s voice sounded over the loudspeaker in the rear compartment. “Which is pretty damn close, if I do say so myself. Voyager’s tractor beam is holding it steady. She’s all yours.”

“Popping the hatch,” B’Elanna warned.

The back door opened, and a rush of air surged past Sayuri as the shuttle’s atmosphere escaped into space. The science team stood firm, magnetised to the deck. Once the roar of the wind had died down, Sayuri was greeted with the deathly silence of the vacuum. The only noises she could hear were her own breathing, and the muffled clang of boots on metal which were transmitted from the floor and up through her suit. Slowly, the occupants of the runabout shuffled towards the exit.

When it was Sayuri’s turn to jump, she felt her breath leave her lungs in a startled gasp.

It was beautiful.

She’d spent most of her life on starships…and yet looking at a viewscreen, or even through the big windows of the mess hall did not compare to being truly surrounded by the endless emptiness of space. Now, she was standing on the precipice of a bottomless chasm, hanging on to a tiny piece of metal for dear life. Even Voyager seemed minuscule compared to the crushing expanse around her; one minute fleck of grey against the star-studded night.

Looking down, she could see the alien artefact a few metres below, wreathed in the ethereal blue haze of Voyager’s tractor beam. The members of the away team who had already disembarked clung to its surface like limpets as they began their scans. It was like something out of an Escher painting, watching people walking along one face, at complete right angles to those on another. The lack of gravity was disorienting, so Sayuri just focused on the small spot where she intended to land.

She jumped.

For one nerve-wracking moment, the irrational fear of losing herself in this eternal nothingness returned, and she wasn’t jumping, she was falling; falling forever into the uncharted depths of an uncaring universe. Then her feet touched down on the cube, and she both heard and felt the reassuring whir of her boots attaching firmly to the surface.

Time to get to work.

* * *

 Captain Janeway paced around her ready room. It had been several hours now, and her restlessness was beginning to return. If there was one thing that agitated her more than doing nothing, it was doing nothing while the ship stood still.

The latest report from the team on the cube had stated that Seven and some of the science team had discovered a possible way to open the artefact. Another report was due soon; the final one before they made the decision on whether or not to take the cube with them. Janeway found herself hoping; irrational, wild hopes that gnawed at her patience. What if the object could be used to power Voyager? How might they be able to upgrade their systems with what would be, essentially, a second warp core? What if it contained even more than that? Blueprints for alien technology? What if, somehow, it could get them home?

Of course, such thoughts were foolish at best and self-destructive at worst. It was far more likely that the artifact, while interesting, would not be able to benefit them in any tangible way. As Captain, she had to take the pessimistic approach; to be ready for the worst, when it inevitably came. It wouldn’t do to pin her hopes on wild speculations.

“Captain, the science team is hailing us,” Chakotay’s urgent voice came over the comm. “They sound pretty excited.”

 _Odd._ Janeway thought, even as she purposefully strode onto the bridge. _They weren’t supposed to report for another fifteen minutes._

“On screen,” she ordered.

B’Elanna’s face, partially obscured by her helmet, appeared on the main viewer. She was back on board the shuttle, and behind her, Janeway could make out various science team members eagerly scurrying about.

“Captain,” the half-Klingon said, her own voice slightly breathless. “Sorry for contacting you guys early, but we’ve found something that we thought you’d want to see.”

“Not a problem Lieutenant,” Janeway replied, feeling her own anticipation building. “What is it?”

“We were able to open a small section of the cube’s hull, and, well, switch to my helmet cam and I’ll show you. It’s probably easier than trying to explain.”

Janeway nodded at Chakotay, who tapped in a few commands on his terminal. The view on the screen abruptly shifted to a first person-perspective of what B’Elanna was seeing. The engineer turned and made her way out of the shuttle, hopping back onto the cube with practiced ease, and headed towards a tall figure that could only be Seven. The Borg was surrounded by several members of the science team, who were all intently studying something on the cube’s surface.

“Coming through,” B’Elanna said as she got closer, squeezing past the others. “I’ve got the Captain on the line.”

Janeway rose out of her seat, and took a few steps forward to get the best possible view. B’Elanna bent over to observe what the others had been looking at, and Janeway couldn’t help but let out a small gasp of surprise.

Some panelling on the outer face of the cube had been slid back to reveal a window into its interior. There were only a few flashing lights inside, but B’Elanna’s suit torches illuminated the cavity well enough to make out its contents. Within, buried back in the alcove and partially hidden by what looked like piping, was a humanoid face. The rest of the figure wasn’t visible, but it was unmistakable; there was someone, or something, inside the cube.

“The figure appears to be in some form of stasis,” Seven said. “However there does not seem to be a way to open the object without exposing him to the vacuum of space. If we wish to revive him, it must be done on board Voyager.”

“That’s what the power source must be for,” B’Elanna added. “Keeping this guy alive. This doesn’t seem like a ship though; more like a giant coffin or escape pod.”

“Are we even sure he is still alive?” Janeway asked.

“Too much shielding to get a clear reading,” B’Elanna replied. “But the cube’s systems are all still functioning. This seems like an awful lot of tech to support a dead person, and if he was alive when he went in, I’d say there’s a very good chance he still is now.”

Janeway drew in a deep breath. This changed the situation. Regardless of anything else, they now had a duty to ensure the survival of this individual. She could see little alternative.

“Very well,” she said. “Tuvok, have you completed your risk assessment of the object?”

“I have Captain,” the Vulcan replied, and B’Elanna turned to face him. “I can detect nothing which could constitute a threat, beyond possibly the individual himself. He will need to be kept under guard once revived.”

“Naturally,” Janeway glanced at Chakotay, who nodded his approval. “In that case, pack up and return to Voyager. Once you’re aboard, we’ll tractor in the cube. In the meantime, start reviewing your findings and find me a way to get it open.”

* * *

 Two hours later, the science team and the senior officers were assembled in the shuttle bay. Before them, the dark cube sat on the deck, looking distinctly out of place and alien amongst the sterile whites and greys of Voyager. Despite some people’s fears, it hadn’t suddenly exploded or flooded the room with toxic gas. In fact, it was just as inert as when they found it. However, all that would change once they began the activation sequence that the other researchers had deduced. Sayuri just hoped they knew what they were doing.

Captain Janeway stepped forward, although Tuvok had insisted on keeping a protective wall of security officers between her and the cube, in case its occupant was hostile. The yellow-shirted guards were arranged around the object, phasers drawn and ready to fire. Off to the left, the Doctor waited nervously, also ready to step in if whoever came out of the cube required medical attention.

“Do it,” the Captain’s voice was firm, and Sayuri trembled slightly. She never wanted to be on the receiving end of a lecture from Janeway, that was for sure.

B’Elanna tapped in some commands, and the whole room waited with baited breath.

For a few seconds, nothing happened. Then, a series of clanks and whirs resonated from deep within the cube. The noises echoed around the room, until the entire shuttle bay was filled with the sounds of heavy, grinding machinery. Plates on the surface of the cube began to shift, sinking deeper into the structure then sliding apart. As they did, smoke billowed from within, cascading over the artifact’s faces and covering the floor like dry ice. Some of the assembled crewmembers, including Sayuri, looked around nervously, but the Captain held her ground, eyes fixed on the opening which had been created in the cube’s surface.

Once the smoke had cleared a bit, Sayuri got her first glimpse of their guest. Pistons shifted, bringing him forward from within the confines of his chamber and out into the light. It was only then that she realised it was not a man at all, or even an alien.

He was a machine.

The figure was held in a crucified position by a mass of tubes and clamps which locked into his chromed metal skin. He was impossibly shiny, reflecting the shuttle bay and the crewmembers in a warped image, like a funhouse mirror. Overall, his form was humanoid, although four arms emerged from his torso, held in place like Da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man. His head was elongated and noble, with crest-like protrusions fanning out from the top.

It was a sight to behold. The science team’s initial tests had placed the cube at over 60,000 years old. This mysterious figure was a remnant, perhaps the sole-surviving remnant, of a bygone age. An age which, from the looks of it, had been far more advanced than their own.

With a series of popping sounds, the tubes disengaged, bursting loose and leaking the remnants of some viscous, blue fluid onto the floor. The figure began to stir, his arms flexing in their constraints. As if it had been choreographed, everyone present took a small step back.

Suddenly, the man’s eyes snapped open, and the last clasps holding him in place disengaged. Now free, he fell the several metres to the deck, landing on his hands and knees with a crash which shook the entire room and left a sizeable dent at the point of impact. Sayuri could see the nearest security officers clutch their weapons more firmly, keeping them trained on the new arrival.

Slowly, the figure rose, residual smoke cascading from his muscular frame, and stretched his arms experimentally. Aside from that, nobody moved a muscle. The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife, and it was several, agonising moments before the Captain finally spoke.

“I am Captain Janeway of the Federation starship Voyager,” she greeted. If she was at all scared, she did an exceptional job of hiding it. “On behalf of myself and my crew, I would like to welcome you to our vessel, and extend an offer of medical aid.”

Abruptly, light burst from the figure’s eyes. A two dimensional, holographic grid extended from them in arc and swept across the room. After repeating the process several times, it disappeared again. Still without saying a word, the synthetic man took two steps forward, to where B’Elanna stood at her console. The half-Klingon seemed unsure of what to do, but at a small gesture from Janeway, she backed away slowly.

Sayuri watched, half in fascination, half in terror, as a long, thin, metal spike emerged from one of the man’s many finger tips. He inserted it into the console like a needle, the point sliding effortlessly through the panel’s casing as if it were wet paper. Janeway still made no move to respond, but another small movement of her hand sent Harry to a terminal on the opposite wall; no doubt to investigate what their visitor was doing and stop him if need be.

After less than ten seconds however, the figure withdrew the needle, retracting it into his body. Then, at long last, he spoke.

“Language identified: Earth, English. Cultural assimilation complete,” his voice was neutral, but not as inhuman as Sayuri might have expected. It reminded her of Commander Data; the android serving aboard the Enterprise, whom she had seen in vids.

Then, to the astonishment of everyone in the room, the figure began to transform. Even the stoic Captain Janeway recoiled slightly, mouth parted in surprise. The plates that made up his skin began to shift, rearranging themselves into a new form. Two of his arms folded down into his sides and were swallowed into his torso. His head too shrunk in size, crests retreating into his brow. By the time the mesmerizingly complex process was complete, he resembled a hairless, androgynous human, albeit with an Adonis-shaped body structure.

Sayuri stood rooted to the spot, in utter awe of what she had just seen.

“Captain Kathryn Janeway,” he stated, his voice carrying more inflection than before; almost melodious in its tone. “My name is…Mordecai.”

“Mordecai,” Janeway repeated. When the figure made no move to speak further, she prompted: “What do you require?”

The metal man smiled, and pointed directly at Janeway’s chest. Sayuri saw Tuvok take a step forward, tensing in preparation in case he needed to defend the Captain.

“I want what you wear,” Mordecai said, his hand beginning to tremble. “I want…a uniform.”

Then he collapsed to the deck.


	4. A Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The crew devise a plan to resuscitate Mordecai, although they are unsure of what he intends to do if/when he awakes. Meanwhile, Seven begins devising a plan of her own; how to win Janeway's affections.

Captain Janeway and Tuvok stood in sickbay, watching intently as B’Elanna and the Doctor tended to their new arrival. It had been four hours since the synthetic being who identified himself as Mordecai had made his surprising request, before passing out, or whatever the mechanical equivalent of passing out would be. Since then, his name was still the most concrete detail they had.

“Look, I may be an engineer, but I didn’t major in robosurgery!” B’Elanna said hotly, snapping at another one of the Doctor’s sarcastic remarks. Janeway was getting thoroughly sick of their bickering, although she could understand where it was coming from. A snail’s pace seemed like warp nine compared to the rate of progress they were making, and it had everyone frustrated.

“That’s enough, you two. Just concentrate on the job,” the Captain cut in, forestalling the Doctor’s comeback. She didn’t like having to constantly crack the whip of command with them, but there were times when it was necessary to keep people focused.

“Sorry, Captain,” B’Elanna said, dialling back the anger in her tone but not managing to completely erase it. “It’s just that we’re getting nowhere fast. None of our equipment can get a reading of any kind. We don’t even know what material he’s made from.”

“Lieutenant Torres is correct in that respect, at least,” the Doctor admitted primly. Janeway groaned internally. “I cannot recommend further procedures without sufficient data. We have no idea how he may react to our medical equipment, or if it would even work at all. As far as I can tell, he’s just…switched off.”

Janeway was about to reply when the whoosh of automatic doors announced the arrival of someone else in sickbay. Turning around, she was pleased to see the familiar silver outfit of her astrometrics officer.

“I believe I might be able to assist, Captain,” Seven of Nine stated as she entered. “I have been reviewing the available information on Lieutenant Commander Data and the works of Dr. Noonian Soong. Although Mordecai’s construction differs in some areas, Data is the closest comparison available. I believe it may be possible to apply some of the same theory here.”

“Great idea,” B’Elanna said, fixing Seven with an annoyed glare. “Machines working on machines. It will be like a regular family reunion.”

“I said that’s enough!” Janeway favoured B’Elanna with a stare that could burn right through the hull, and the temperamental half-Klingon withered a bit under the gaze. Turning back to Seven, who observed the exchange with passive interest, she continued. “If I recall, Commander Data had a positronic brain. Do you think Mordecai functions in the same way?”

“I am uncertain. However, I believe the diagnostic tools which the Enterprise’s chief medical officer used on Data may be able to yield better results than our current approach.”

Janeway scratched the back of her head thoughtfully.

“Alright Seven, I want you to assist the Doctor and B’Elanna. Replicate whatever tools you need, and contact me when you have anything, or the second he wakes up,” Janeway turned to her security chief. “Tuvok, make sure there’s a constant security presence in sickbay. We still don’t know exactly what this ‘Mordecai’s’ plans are.”

Everyone nodded, and if B’Elanna was frustrated at now having to work with both the Doctor _and_ Seven, she mercifully kept it to herself. As she departed sickbay, Janeway could feel the stress of the hectic day she’d just had beginning to catch up with her. And yet, there was still no time to rest. Mordecai could theoretically wake at any moment, and Janeway wanted to make sure she was there when he did. There were probably many questions he’d want answered, and there were just as many questions she wanted to ask him; not least of which was why a millennia old cybernetic organism had any interest in joining the crew of Voyager? At least, she assumed that’s what he’d meant by ‘I want a uniform’.

“Janeway to Chakotay,” she said, tapping her communicator. “Meet me in my ready room in fifteen minutes. We have some plans to make. In the meantime, resume our course. It’s high time we got underway again.

“Yes, ma’am. Any news on our guest?”

“No developments yet. I’ll keep you posted.”

The Captain headed for her quarters, intending to freshen up a bit before returning to the bridge. In truth, there was no real need for her to be there, aside from seeing Chakotay, but it had been a convenient excuse to get out of sickbay and away from B’Elanna and the Doctor’s arguments. Of course, introducing Seven into the mix would hardly improve that situation, but if the Borg could help them make some progress, then hopefully they’d be too busy with work to take pot-shots at each other.

 _It’s like herding cats,_ Janeway thought, smiling slightly. In fact, that was a pretty good description of being a starship Captain in general.

She had her own personal reasons for wanting to leave sickbay as well; it meant she didn’t have to be near Seven, and consequently be forced to endure the increasingly insistent urges the Borg generated within her.

 _This has gone beyond a joke,_ Janeway thought darkly. _How can the ship function if I can barely stand to be in the same room as a member of my own senior staff?_

The only way around this was to confront it, and she knew she was delaying that moment. She just had to force herself to be around Seven, and to learn how to control the desires that stirred. If she could only manage to accept them as yet another burden she must silently bear, eventually they’d fade into the background along with everything else. As it was, she’d been avoiding Seven enough that the yearning came back full force every time she set eyes on the beautiful woman. If she kept it up much longer, Seven may begin to notice, and Janeway owed the young woman better than that. She wouldn’t cut herself off just because she couldn’t seem to keep her damn hormones in check.

 _I did say I’d help her move later this week,_ Janeway pondered as she arrived outside her quarters, already both dreading and anticipating that particular day. _That should be a good time to acclimatize myself. Yes, a whole day off-duty with Seven should be more than enough to learn some self-control._

If only she could truly believe that. The Captain always preferred a head-on approach when dealing with conflicts; both internal and external. The only problem was, this time, she wasn’t quite sure she’d win.

 _At least I have the Mordecai situation to fall back on if I need an excuse,_ Janeway thought.

 _Coward,_ Kathryn pointed out. She was right, and the Captain hated it.

* * *

 Twenty minutes later, a slightly refreshed Janeway made her way onto the bridge. She nodded at Chakotay as she did, and the first officer followed, handing the bridge over to Tuvok, who had requested to stay on duty until there was more definite news on Mordecai’s condition.

Once they were inside her ready room, the Captain headed straight for the replicator. She was craving a cup of strong coffee perhaps more than was strictly healthy.

“Do you want anything to drink, Commander?” she asked, punching in the commands.

“Just water, please,” Chakotay replied, settling on one of the sofas. Janeway took a position opposite her friend, gleefully cradling her fresh brew.

“What a day,” she said, trying to relax at least a little.

“Indeed.” Chakotay smiled, sipping his drink. “Been a while since we’ve had one this busy. I’m sure Science are happy that we’ve found them some new toys.”

“Hardly toys,” Janeway said, remembering the jaw-dropping way in which the synthetic man had changed his entire body to more closely imitate human anatomy. “What do you make of this Mordecai?”

“I’m not sure I can make anything of him yet, except for the fact that he’s a heavy sleeper.”

Janeway allowed herself a small snort of amusement.

“I have to admit, I feared the worst when he didn’t respond to my greeting,” she took a sip of her coffee, happy to feel it was now a drinkable temperature. “I was almost sure we’d have a fight on our hands, especially after he started interfacing with the ship’s computer. It seems like he was just downloading information though, which I can’t say I begrudge him.”

“Perhaps next time he could just ask,” Chakotay took another gulp, eyeing the Captain over the rim of his glass.

“I would have preferred that,” Janeway said. “But it must have been very confusing for him. Who knows what sort of culture he comes from? If they were a race of machines, maybe that’s just how they interact.”

“He would be an interesting addition to the Voyager family,” Chakotay agreed. “I’m assuming that’s what you want to talk about; his request to join the crew? We need a plan of action for when he wakes up…if he wakes up.”

“I’m sure B’Elanna, Seven, and the Doctor are doing all they can,” Janeway regarded her first officer. Chakotay was good at his job; something which Janeway was immensely thankful for. She didn’t think she could have survived these past few years without someone reliable to fall back on. “As for his request, I see no reason to object, once we’ve had some time to assess him. If he truly is willing, and if he’s competent, I’m sure we can put him to good use. There’s not really much else we can do, short of offering to drop him off on the next habitable planet.”

“Voyager’s acquiring quite the diverse selection of individuals,” Chakotay noted approvingly. “Ex-Maquis, ex-Borg, delta quadrant natives, and now an ancient robot. Sometimes I wonder how you manage to keep us all together.”

 _Sometimes I wonder as well,_ Janeway thought, but she didn’t voice her concerns. That would be a bit too personal, even with a close friend. Instead, she took a long drag of coffee, eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Herding cats, Commander.”

* * *

 Seven stepped away from the biobed, where Mordecai lay unmoving, and inspected their handiwork. Between her acquired knowledge of android construction, B’Elanna’s technical skills, and the Doctor’s expertise with medical equipment, the three of them had jury-rigged a device which should be able to revive the synthetic man. Seven calculated a 73.4% chance of success; much lower than her usual standards, but unfortunately the best they could do.

“I just hope he’s grateful for all we’ve done for him,” B’Elanna said. Her sulkiness had tailed off slightly once construction of the machine had begun, but she was still prone to the occasional snide comment. Despite that, Seven had found that working with the half-Klingon had not been as difficult as she had anticipated. Even with their wildly differing attitudes, she and the chief engineer had formed an efficient team. Perhaps it was because this was sickbay and not engineering, and therefore she was not ‘constantly breathing down B’Elanna’s neck’, which is apparently what her presence in the engine room felt like.

“I wouldn’t be too hopeful,” the Doctor said, rubbing his bald brow. “Patients usually aren’t.”

“I will alert the Captain,” Seven stated, tapping her comm badge. “Seven of Nine to Captain Janeway.”

“Go ahead.”

“Captain, we are ready to attempt the resuscitation of Mordecai. You requested that we inform you so you can be present.”

“I’m on my way.”

While they were waiting, the trio performed a few last-minute checks. Seven hoped they would be successful; she was interested in talking to the newcomer. As a Borg, she had been a partially synthetic organism, and she still retained many inorganic components in the form of her implants. Being able to converse with a fully synthetic life form should prove to be an educational experience. She wondered if he would possess emotions, something which Lieutenant Commander Data had initially lacked, but had later developed to a certain degree. In some ways, it reminded Seven of her own transition back to humanity, which was still far from complete.

The sickbay doors parted, and Janeway entered, flanked by Tuvok and Chakotay and followed by a couple of extra security personnel. As always, Seven’s gaze was magnetically drawn to the compact Captain, who was currently in full command mode. Since identifying her attraction to Janeway, Seven had begun to take note of many more aspects of the older woman’s physical appearance. She found herself memorizing seemingly irrelevant details, such as the subtle variations in Kathryn’s scent at different times of the day, or the way her pupils contracted or dilated depending on what she was observing. It was illogical to focus on these nuances, yet Seven found it surprisingly pleasurable.

Right now, Kathryn was very much the Captain. She wore a diplomatic smile, yet her jaw was set firm and her chin slightly upturned. Seven had seen the same determined expression many times before, whenever they first made contact with a new alien species. It was meant to leave people with no doubt as to who was in charge, and it rarely failed in its purpose. Even the Borg had taken note…Seven’s presence on Voyager was living proof of that.

Janeway listened as the Doctor reported on their work. Despite the possibility that the device they had constructed would be incompatible with Mordecai’s physiology, the Captain agreed that it was their best option; perhaps their only one. After briefly discussing with the rest of the senior staff, she nodded her head.

“Bring him round.”

All the people present apart from the Doctor backed away, and the EMH erected a force-field around the biobed; an added security precaution, since they were still not completely sure of Mordecai’s intentions. Were he to suddenly turn hostile, he would be incapable of damaging the hologram, and the containment field should be sufficient to keep him in place until he could be transferred to the brig.

For the second time in as many hours, everyone stood in silent anticipation, each nursing their own hopes and doubts about the stranger.

After about thirty seconds of inputting commands, the Doctor himself retreated a few steps.

“I’ve begun the neural reboot sequence,” he said, for once forgoing his usual flair for theatrics. “If it works, he should regain consciousness momentarily.”

Even as he spoke, Mordecai began to show signs of movement. First a single finger twitched, then a whole hand. The Doctor turned his attention to a few charts displayed on the wall monitor. Seven didn’t know exactly what they meant, but the rapid spikes, and general shift in colour from red to green were obviously good signs.

“It’s working,” the Doctor said, a small note of pride creeping into his voice. “I’m beginning to get a signal.”

Suddenly, Mordecai’s lidless eyes began to glow. For a moment, they blinked a rich, blood red, before returning to the cool blue they had been when he had exited the cube. A faint whine filled the room, similar to the sound of a large computer bank starting up. It quickly rose in pitch beyond the scope of human hearing; although some of Seven’s Borg systems were still able to detect its presence. Mordecai began to stir in earnest, pushing himself into a half-sitting position with one hand. Seven noted the quiet mechanical whir as he moved; the sound of the thousands of tiny motors which animated his limbs. It was disturbingly similar to the noise of a Borg drone.

“Where am I?” he said, unblinking eyes sweeping the room and eventually settling on the Captain.

“You are in sickbay,” Janeway explained with practiced authority, approaching the force field. “It is the primary medical facility of our starship, Voyager. You collapsed shortly after exiting the cube, and we brought you here.”

Mordecai smiled. It was an odd sight, but Seven saw nothing to indicate it was any less sincere than a human expression. Perhaps this android was sufficiently advanced to truly replicate emotions after all.

“I thank you Captain, and I apologize if you had any difficulty treating me. No doubt my construction is strange to you. Whatever you did though, it seems to have worked; my diagnostics report no problems.”

“It was touch and go for a while,” Janeway admitted. “But you owe your thanks to my chief engineer, B’Elanna Torres, my chief medical officer, the Doctor, and my astrometrics officer, Seven of Nine. They were the ones who devised the device.” As she spoke, the Captain gestured to each crewmember in turn, and the android followed her hands. When he looked at her, Seven felt a very odd sensation pass through her body. She could not adequately describe it; it was not inherently unpleasant, but if felt distinctly different to being appraised by a human or any other organic species.

“Ah, Seven of Nine,” he stated. “There is a great deal about you in the Voyager archives. Is it true that you too once belonged to a cybernetic race? The ‘Borg’?”

Seven was not entirely sure how to respond, unsure of whether she should discuss such matters with a stranger. The Captain had not given any orders to remain silent or withhold information however, so she simply said:

“I am a former member of the Collective. The Borg forcefully assimilate other species, using cybernetic implants to incorporate them into one unified whole with a shared consciousness. This happened to me when I was six years old. I was a drone, assigned to Voyager as a liaison during negotiations, however when the Borg attacked this vessel, Captain Janeway ordered me severed from the Collective. I have been a member of this crew since that point.”

She realized after she said it that her retelling of events unjustly made the Captain sound unfeeling, almost cruel, in her decision to force individuality upon Seven. Initially, that is indeed how she had felt; scared, alone, and furious at the one who had done this to her. As time went on though, and more of her human qualities had begun to surface, Seven had come to realize what an immense gift Janeway had given to her. On an almost daily basis, she discovered new things about herself and the world around her; things which she had been denied as a member of the Collective. She would be forever thankful to the Captain for giving her a second chance at life, and on that note, she added:

“Although life aboard Voyager is very different to my past experiences, I do not miss the Collective. I am…glad that I had the good fortune to have been chosen as the Borg’s representative, or else I would not be here.”

“Interesting,” Mordecai said thoughtfully. “I should like to discuss this more with you at a later date, if that is agreeable.”

Seven wasn’t sure what more there was to say, but she knew that Kathryn expected her to be polite, and she did want the chance to learn more about Mordecai, so she nodded her consent.

Turning back to Janeway, he continued:

“I should also apologize for accessing your computer banks without your permission. Rest assured I did not download any classified or private files; simply the contents of the public archive.”

“I can understand the desire to learn more about your surroundings,” Janeway replied evenly. “However I’m afraid you now have us at a disadvantage. With that information, you know a great deal about Voyager and its crew, but we know very little about you.”

“I will be happy to answer any questions you have Captain,” Mordecai regarded the array of crewmembers before him. “Or that anyone has for that matter. However, might I venture that this is not the best place to conduct such a talk?”

“Indeed not,” Janeway’s face hardened slightly. “Unfortunately, our regulations state that we must detain you for a bit longer, until we can be sure that you are not a threat to the ship. It’s just procedure you understand. Once you’re in the clear, we’ll have a meeting to discuss further options.”

“Of course,” Mordecai turned to Tuvok. “You are the chief of security?”

“That is correct,” the Vulcan replied, his face, as always, betraying nothing.

“Well, any tests or interviews you need to carry out, you are more than welcome. I wish only to set everyone’s minds at ease.”

“We’ll arrange more comfortable guest quarters for you,” Janeway said. “You can wait there until the probation period is up.”

“Understood.”

“Very well. Tuvok, can you accompany our guest to the ambassador’s suite. I’m sure that will be sufficient for his needs.”

“Yes Captain,” the security chief waited as Mordecai eased off the bed. Then, gesturing to two of his men, the entourage departed sickbay. Seven saw Janeway’s shoulders slump slightly once they were gone, and she realized the Captain was probably behind on her regeneration cycles again.

After a few moments, Janeway addressed the assembled group of senior officers.

“Well done all of you. We’ll reconvene tomorrow once Tuvok has had a chance to perform his security checks. Until then, dismissed.”

A general murmur of agreement buzzed around the room, and one by one, everyone began to depart. Seven considered staying behind to talk to Kathryn, but she could see the Captain surreptitiously stifling yawns, and she decided that she did not want to delay the older woman’s bedtime any further. Kathryn’s wellbeing was a priority.

Instead, she too left Sickbay, heading back to her alcove in cargo bay two. She hoped that the arrival of Mordecai would not prevent the Captain from accompanying her when she ‘moved in’ to her new quarters later that week. Seven was ‘looking forward’ to spending the day with Kathryn, and more importantly, it was also when she planned to state her romantic intentions.

After considerable research and rejecting many alternate plans, Seven had settled on that particular meeting as the one which would provide the highest chances of success. They would both be off-duty, in an informal, private setting, which would help Kathryn relax. It was also a shared activity; a bonding exercise which would hopefully make the Captain ‘emotionally closer’ to her and more receptive to the possibility. Additionally, in the event of copulation, a bed would be easily accessible. She was unsure whether Kathryn was the type of woman who would ‘put out on the first date’, as Tom Paris had once said, but she did not want to find herself unprepared if such an event occurred.

Seven felt a small shiver of nervousness pass through her at the thought of addressing the Captain on this topic. It was illogical; she had never been afraid to ask the older woman anything before. Then again, those queries had simply been requests for information or clarification, not something Seven had been so personally invested in. What if the Captain refused her? She had read that requests for the commencement of romantic relationships were not always successful; in fact, they often failed. Seven found that speculating on such an outcome produced very unpleasant sensations in every part of her body, and she quickly stopped. She was aware that negative emotions could often cause physical discomfort; now it also seemed that even the possibility of negative emotions could produce the same effect.

Arriving at her alcove, Seven decided that she needed to further increase her chances. She must be prepared for every possibility, every obstacle that could prevent her desired outcome. As she keyed in the familiar commands to begin her regeneration cycle, she pulled up a copy of the Starfleet Captain’s Handbook on her console. She knew that Kathryn upheld the ideals contained within it as much as possible, and often fell back on them when she was unsure of what to do. Although unlikely, it was possible that this book might contain regulations which would be detrimental to her efforts; passages which must be carefully analyzed and dissected. Kathryn was very logical, for a human, and Seven knew that if she could provide convincing counter-arguments, the Captain would most likely accept them.

At least, that’s what she hoped.

Seven queued the document to be processed during regeneration. That way, she could assimilate all the information while she ‘slept’, and would be ready to begin analysis as soon her cycle was complete.

_Failure is unacceptable._

* * *

At noon the next day, Captain Janeway made her way to the ambassador suite, her stride confident and rejuvenated. Last night had broken her streak of insomnia, and for the first time in more than a month, she had been able to get a truly restful night’s sleep. The fact that some of her dreams had contained the comforting embrace of a mysterious stranger; tall, blonde, and female, was something which sat less well with her.

 _Just some wistful dreams._ She reminded herself. _It’s nothing you haven’t dealt with before._

_Well, if dreaming about Seven is what you need to snooze soundly, then I guess you’ll just have to make that sacrifice._

Janeway briefly wondered if debating with herself internally was indicative of some kind of psychiatric problem. Then she decided that she really didn’t want to know the answer to that. Pushing her thoughts to one side, she focused on the task at hand; it was high time she became properly acquainted with this Mordecai. Tuvok’s report indicated that he did not believe Mordecai was a threat, and that the Vulcan considered it safe for Janeway to see him, so long as a security contingent was kept at attention outside in case they were needed. He left the final decision on whether to allow Mordecai free range of the ship to the Captain’s discretion. Janeway trusted her security chief’s judgment, and in truth, shared his assessment. Mordecai had done nothing to indicate he was anything other than sincere, and she didn’t want to damage their relationship by treating him like a prisoner when there was no need. If he wanted to join the crew, he’d need to learn to trust her, and in that respect, it was her responsibility to make the first gesture.

Arriving outside, she nodded at the two guards on duty, and buzzed herself in.

Mordecai was sitting at the desk, one hand typing on the personal work terminal, and the other holding a padd, which he was studying intently. He looked up as the Captain entered, and a broad smile spread across his face; something Janeway was still getting used to seeing.

“Captain,” he said, rising to his feet and coming around the desk to greet her. “It is a pleasure to see you.”

“Likewise,” Janeway acknowledged, gesturing to the seats arranged next to a coffee table. “I’ve been looking forward to talking properly. I trust these quarters are satisfactory.”

“I require very few comforts, Captain,” Mordecai replied, taking a seat in one of the armchairs. Much like Seven, he sat in a very rigid manner; back perfectly straight and legs bent at ninety degrees, although he rested his hands on his knees. “These quarters are more than adequate. In fact, you may relocate me if you wish. All I require is access to a computer terminal.”

“That can be arranged, so long as you’re sure,” Janeway was struck by how polite he was; not something one would necessarily expect from an android. Not that she didn’t appreciate it; she’d certainly had her fill of rude, vulgar, and pugnacious species in the delta quadrant. Then again, Voyager had also encountered many who appeared amenable at first, only to reveal their true nature later. She wasn’t ready to let her guard down just yet. Not before she had a more thorough impression.

“I want you to know that Commander Tuvok has cleared me to release you,” Janeway continued. “He’s satisfied that you are not a danger to the ship.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Mordecai said. “We had a most pleasant discussion yesterday evening. The Vulcans are a fascinating people, if Tuvok is any indication. I admire his logical approach.”

“He is good at his job,” Janeway agreed. “And if he thinks you pose no danger, then that’s good enough for me.”

The Captain took a moment to study Mordecai, mentally appraising him. Ordinarily, she could glean a lot of information from both her friends and her foes just by studying them. She’d made a point of meeting with every crewmember personally at the start of their commission, forming her initial opinions and trying to get a feel for the people she’d be leading and figuring out the best way to mesh them together into a smoothly operating machine. It was also an important skill when encountering another race; knowing when they were scared or angry, knowing when they were lying, knowing when to call their bluff and when they were being serious. The task proved much more difficult with Mordecai. He was totally different to anything she’d met before, and Janeway found she didn’t even know where to start. He had no tics, no involuntary facial expressions to indicate what he was truly thinking. His smiles could be genuine, but they were as precisely controlled as the way he sat, and gave nothing away. Even as she raked her eyes up and down his sleek metallic form, he regarded her with a completely impassive expression. It unsettled Janeway, but then again, it was unfair to see it as suspicious. Mordecai couldn’t help being the way he was.

“I’ll save my many questions for the staff meeting,” she said at last. “There’s just one thing I’d like to ask now.”

“By all means.”

“Why do you want to join Voyager’s crew?” it was something Janeway had been puzzling over ever since he’d made the request. She could think of several possible reasons, but she wanted to hear it directly from him. Perhaps it might finally give her some insight into his character.

For the first time since awaking, Mordecai did not reply right away.

“I know what it is like to be far from home,” he said eventually, and this time Janeway could definitely detect something in his tone; a note of underlying sadness. “When I assimilated the information on Voyager, I discovered your predicament. It is not something I would wish anyone to suffer, and I feel that it is my duty to offer you my assistance. Besides, I have nowhere else to go. As you may have figured out already, I am the last remnant of my age. Your ship’s logs speak of the camaraderie of the crew. It is something I wish to have the chance to…experience. To feel like I belong again.”

 _Well, as answers go, that’s a pretty good one._ Janeway admitted to herself. If what he said was true, then it was just about the best outcome she could have hoped for.

“Well put,” she answered, allowing a genuine smile to tug at the corners of her mouth. “Come, I’m sure the others want to meet you properly. You can sit in on our staff meeting, and we’ll discuss what your options are.”

“I would be honoured.”

Janeway stood up, straightening her uniform. It occurred to her that Mordecai didn’t have any clothing; something they should probably rectify soon. His form was neutered, and there was nothing about him which was impolite to show in public, but it was still slightly disconcerting. Still, perhaps he would be wearing a Starfleet uniform soon. Janeway thought it might look good on him.

As they left, the Captain dismissed the security officers with a curt nod. It might have been safer to keep them around, but she had to start treating Mordecai like an ally at some point if he was going to be staying, and now seemed as good a time as ever. She found herself wondering how the metal man might fit in. He had been perfectly amicable so far; certainly more willing to cooperate than the latest addition to their crew before him, Seven of Nine.

 _God, what a struggle that was._ Janeway thought, remembering how many times the Borg had defied her, both publicly and behind closed doors. She didn’t like to admit it, but a small part of her respected Seven for her wilfulness and even, she grudgingly accepted, found it attractive. One disobedient crewmember was quite enough however, and she was thankful that Mordecai seemed to have a slightly better grasp of the command structure. Perhaps he had been studying.

“What were you working on back there, if you don’t mind me asking?” Janeway enquired as they navigated toward the turbolift.

“I was reviewing your Starfleet regulations and training,” he replied, confirming the Captain’s suspicions. “It appears to be a prestigious organization. I understand there are a strict series of tests one must complete to be allowed entry.”

“That’s correct. It’s one of the things we’ll discuss in the meeting.”

The lift deposited them on the bridge, which was already running under the temporary skeleton crew who were covering for the absent command staff. As the two of them made their way into the conference room, Janeway was keenly aware of the hush which immediately settled over the group, as everyone subtly, or not so subtly, turned to peer at the newcomer. With a small grimace to indicate her mild displeasure at the display, she took her seat at the head of the table, and Mordecai sat down in the space which had been left empty next to her.

The Captain cleared her throat loudly, drawing everyone’s attention back to her and why they were here.

“Alright, let’s get this underway. I’m sure you all remember our guest, Mordecai.”

Janeway made the rounds, introducing everyone officially, although Mordecai undoubtedly knew it all already from the ship’s database. Once the pleasantries had been observed, she turned her attention back to the metal man.

“Well, now that you know everyone, perhaps you can fill in some details about yourself; like where you’re from, and how you ended up drifting through space in that cube.”

“Of course,” Mordecai said, readying the needle instrument from his fingertip. The Captain recoiled slightly, instinctually trying to put some distance between herself and the potential weapon. Mordecai smiled apologetically, and indicated the table’s control panel with a nod. “May I?”

“Go ahead,” Janeway straightened out her features, erasing any concern which had been displayed in order to return to polite interest. Mordecai inserted the tip of the spike, and the console blurred with images and text as he uploaded data into Voyager’s computer.

“I’m sure those of you who were responsible for reviving me can attest to the alien nature of the materials from which I am comprised,” he began, eyes scanning the room with focused intent and lingering on the Doctor, B’Elanna, and Seven. “There is good reason for this. Having reviewed your database, I have found that several of these substances have never been observed in your universe.”

“Excuse me,” B’Elanna cut in, immediately picking up on his phraseology, “but…’our universe’?”

“Indeed,” Mordecai said. “For I am not originally from this universe.”

He glanced around again, and Janeway could see the shock on several people’s faces. She hoped that she was doing a better job of concealing her own.

“Then where?” she managed at last.

“A parallel dimension…at least, that is the simplest way of envisioning it. Unfortunately, many of my memories from that time were distorted when I crossed over. I can recall some of the more general concepts, but specific details continue to elude me. In my universe, I was a member of a race of sentient machines. We were the caretakers of the galaxy, existing timelessly in the empty void beyond the outer rim, and observing the younger races.”

“Through the gifts of technology and guidance, we nurtured them into a prosperous era of peace and enlightenment, promoting order and rationality. Sadly, it did not last. Agents of chaos arose, wanting nothing more than to undo all we had accomplished and cast every civilization back into the dark ages. We tried and exhausted every other possibility, but were eventually faced with no option other than an all-out war.”

Mordecai frowned slightly, as if he was tasting something unpleasant.

“For a time it seemed that we were winning. We reclaimed countless worlds from the insidious influence of these anarchists, and it looked as if we might drive them out for good. However, it had been a ruse; a stalling tactic while they prepared a weapon of mass destruction designed to end the war in one blow. They used our synthetic nature and our own technological gifts against us, perverting the travel network we had established to use as a conduit for a powerful energy wave which destroyed all artificial life. I had been spearheading the final counterattack, attempting to disarm the device, but we were too late. The earliest clear image I have in my mind is a great flash of crimson light, then the nothingness of the space between realities. I do not know what happened, but perhaps the fact that I was at the very epicentre of the blast somehow saved me. The energy was so immense…I can only assume it tore a hole in spacetime through which I fell.”

Janeway could scarcely believe what she was hearing. Yet, at the same time, what would Mordecai stand to gain by fabricating such a story? It was at times like these that she envied Tuvok’s rational detachment.

“I eventually found myself drifting aimlessly in space,” Mordecai continued. “After travelling for some time, I was picked up by a passing cargo transport, the occupants of which identified themselves as members of the Skyrion Empire. They are the ones whose form I was emulating when you first freed me from the cube. For a while, I made my home amongst their people. Having lost everything I had once known, and with no way to return, I resolved to use my knowledge to help the civilizations of this universe as best I could.”

“However, the Skyrion Empire was a harsh, oppressive regime. Once word of my existence reached the ears of its rulers, they hunted me down. They feared what they did not understand, and what they could not control, and eventually decided to dispose of me. By that time, I was well-known enough that they could not simply make me disappear. Instead, they arrested me for some fabricated crime, and imprisoned me within the cube; a vessel they called the Eternity Ark. I was held in suspended animation, and the next thing I know, I am in the shuttle bay of your spacecraft, 60,000 years later. The Borg information Seven of Nine provided to the Voyager archives indicates that the Skyrion Empire and its people are no more, and the areas of space they once inhabited are now colonized by a multitude of other, younger species.”

No one spoke for several seconds; each absorbing and processing the flood of information Mordecai had just given them. At last, it was Seven who broke the silence.

“In all the documented cases of the Federation encountering parallel dimensions, they have always borne a notable resemblance to this one,” she said, her tone neutral, although Janeway thought she detected a hint of scepticism. “Are there any such similarities that you have observed?”

“My understanding of the multiverse theory is limited,” Mordecai admitted, shifting position so he could more clearly see the Borg, who sat at the far end of the table. “However I have some hypotheses which may explain my observations. Consider many separate universes, existing parallel to each other in tenth-dimensional space. Each one was created by a different outcome of some probabilistic event in the past. Universes which are more similar, where only a few events occurred differently, will exist closer together.”

He paused, surveying the room. Janeway nodded her understanding when he looked at her, signalling that he should proceed.

“When an event occurs to link two universes, the one you encounter will be determined by the energy of that event. A more violent tearing of the space-time continuum will result in an encounter with a universe which is further away, and thus more different from your own. It is akin to many sheets of parallel metal, each representing a different reality. If a ballistic projectile is fired at this arrangement, the amount of sheets it will penetrate through, and thus its displacement from its original position, is determined by its kinetic energy. In my case, the sheer power unleashed by the device was enough to hurl me through many such membranes, and I find that this reality is quite different to my own.”

Turning back to Seven, he finished.

“My first act upon arrival was to attempt to make contact with my kind, but it appears that they do not exist within this dimension, nor does the relay network we established to enable faster than light travel. There may be similarities, but unfortunately, my recollection of the time before my crossing over is too indistinct to be sure.”

“You said that you were drifting in space when you arrived?” Harry asked, brow crinkling in mild confusion. “Without a ship?”

“Correct. My people did not utilise space going vessels like you do. Our bodies are capable of withstanding exposure to the vacuum of space, and we travel under our own propulsion.”

“So you’re saying you have your own warp drive?” B’Elanna interjected again.

“Not quite,” Mordecai chuckled. “Although I am capable of FTL speeds, I do not possess an Alcubierre drive like Voyager. That being said, with access to the schematics, I may be able to replicate one effectively. It would be an interesting project, no doubt.”

The conversation continued in that vein for almost an hour as the crew plied Mordecai with questions. Janeway was ready to step in if need be and save the poor man from the innate curiosity of her staff, but his pleasant demeanour didn’t falter and he happily responded to each and every inquiry. Although his initial story had seemed almost laughably far-fetched, Janeway steadily grew to accept it, as Mordecai provided as much detail as he could on every aspect of his past. The thing which really floored her, however, was when the discussion turned to his joining the crew.

“As I said before, ordinarily, there would be certain tests which must be completed in order to be granted admission into Starfleet,” she said, after Chakotay had raised the topic in a good-natured effort to get the meeting back on track. “Normally this would be accompanied by several years of training at Starfleet Academy, however, that may be rather difficult in our situation.”

A small ripple of laugher echoed around the room, and Janeway carried on:

“Given the circumstances, I think we can waive the official entry requirements. To be honest, out here in the delta quadrant, Voyager could always use an extra pair of hands. We’ve acquired several non-Starfleet crewmembers over the years, like Seven and Neelix here, and they’ve all proven to be valuable additions to the crew. So long as you’re prepared to follow orders and learn as you go along, I’m sure we can find a place for you.”

“I understand, Captain, and I thank you for your generosity,” Mordecai answered solemnly, switching to addressing her by rank. “However, if it is agreeable, I would like to take the exams anyway. The results could assist you in determining where I should be allocated.”

Janeway was a bit surprised. She couldn’t imagine there were many people who would voluntarily submit themselves to that type of scrutiny. Nevertheless, she could see no reason to object. The results would certainly be interesting.

“If that is what you wish,” Janeway replied amicably. “I should warn you, though, that the tests are quite rigorous. I imagine you will want some time to prepare.”

“That should not be necessary,” Mordecai replied. “I will attempt the tests now, if that is acceptable.”

“Now? As in, right now?” Janeway frowned. “Mordecai, I’m not sure that you understand. There are a minimum of twenty separate theory papers; the exam period usually lasts a month at least.”

“I do not believe I will require that long,” Mordecai replied, seemingly unaware of the impossibility of what he was saying. “You have ship’s business to discuss before this meeting is concluded. If you permit me, I will complete the exams while you finish.”

 _I don’t believe this,_ Janeway thought, but she decided to humour him. If nothing else, it would give him a taste of the level that was expected when serving on a starship. Mordecai may have been a caretaker of the galaxy in his past life, but if he was truly serious about joining the crew, which it seemed he was, he’d have to be treated just like everybody else. A bit of humbling might be a good way to prepare him for that role.

“Very well,” she said, aware of the amused looks of her crew as she retrieved a stack of padds, programming each one to display a separate paper. She handed them to Mordecai, who took them without hesitation and immediately engrossed himself in the first one.

“Right, back to business,” Janeway cracked her voice slightly to stamp out the few snickers she could hear in the background. In truth, she felt like chuckling as well, but it was important to keep up appearances.

As each department head filled her in on what had been occurring that week, she idly glanced at Mordecai from time to time. To his credit, he hadn’t given up straight away, although he had already set several padds aside.

Looking away, she was unprepared to find herself locking gazes with Seven, who had apparently been studying her intently. Janeway wondered if it was because she was expected to say something, but she could hear Neelix enthusing away in the background, uninterrupted. It sounded slightly muffled; as if all her senses were tuned to the woman before her, and she found herself having difficulty looking away. Her breath caught in her throat, and for a fleeting moment, she spied something in the depths of Seven’s eyes which she couldn’t identify, but which made her whole body tingle pleasantly. Then, to her utmost surprise, Seven broke the contact, glancing away almost bashfully; a faint reddish hue colouring her otherwise alabaster cheeks.

 _Is…is she blushing?_ Janeway was utterly stymied. There wasn’t much that could cause the usually unflappable Borg to lose her composure.

Oh god, how had she been looking at her? If her eyes conveyed even half of what she was feeling inside, then even Seven wouldn’t have been able to miss the longing. Was that why she was embarrassed? Surely she…

“If I might interrupt, Captain, I have completed the tests.”

Janeway jumped slightly at the unfamiliar voice next to her, and turned sharply to see Mordecai holding out the stack of padds.

“Completed?” she said, glad to have the distraction, but not so sure about the truth of his statement. “You’ve completed all of them?”

“I have.”

“Uh, well,” Janeway turned to her crew, who were all looking equally surprised. “I’ll run the marking program.”

She took the first padd and set the program running. Then she ran it again. And again. And then one last time just to be sure. Then she went through it manually, picking out several questions she knew the answers to and comparing her knowledge with what Mordecai had written.

_This isn’t possible._

The numbers didn’t lie, however.

Feeling the colour drain slightly from her face, she accessed next padd. It was the same story there. And on the next one. And…well, by the fifth, she was hardly surprised to see the result. By the time she’d run the program on the last one, she was glad that she was sitting down, or else she may have felt slightly weak at the knees.

“Captain?” Tom asked, craning slightly to try and see the padd she was holding. “What is it?”

Janeway didn’t speak. Instead, she pressed a button, activating the small display screen behind her. She trusted it would be self-explanatory.

On it, a table of paper titles was displayed; twenty in total. Next to one was the label 99%.

Next to the rest, was 100%.

“Curses,” Mordecai said. “I knew I’d forgotten to take into account the Lorentzian contraction of the Einstein-de Sitter metric for the curvature of space time at the point of singularity. I…”

He tailed off when he realized no one else was talking or even really listening to him.

After a few moments of incredulous glances being exchanged, Janeway cleared her throat, ensuring that her next words would be audible.

“Welcome to Starfleet, Ensign Mordecai.”


	5. Ensign Mordecai

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sayuri gets an unexpected assignment that gives her a chance to get closer to Mordecai. But Seven can't shake the feeling that there is something wrong with Voyager's new guest.

Sayuri awoke with a start to the sound of her comm badge chirping insistently. Rolling over with a stifled groan of protest, she blearily scrabbled around in the pool of uniform she’d left on the floor last night, searching for the small metal device through half-lidded eyes.

 _Who would want to talk to me this early?_ She thought, somewhat irritably. Her shift didn’t start for another two hours yet, and she was never usually needed outside of her scheduled work day.

“Ensign Yoshida, this is the Captain,” the raspy, commanding tone echoed around the room, distorted somewhat by the small speaker in the badge, but still demanding respect. Sayuri blanched as she heard it, heaving herself up onto all fours and frantically going through the rest of her clothes with renewed vigour. She finally located the communicator in one of the trouser legs, where it had apparently come loose and slipped when she’d undressed.

“Y-Yes Captain,” she stammered quickly as she fumbled the device, aghast at how croaky and dry her voice sounded. There was a brief pause, and Sayuri could only tremble in anticipation of the lecture she was about to receive.

“I’m sorry if I woke you Ensign,” Janeway said, her voice softening imperceptibly, “but I have a special assignment for you; one which I think would be suited to your talents. It will replace your usual duties immediately and until further notice.”

“Y-Yes ma’am, what do you need me to do?” Sayuri was relieved that she wasn’t in trouble for taking so long to answer the hail, but her fear was replaced with a nervous apprehension. It must be an important task, if the Captain was speaking to her about it directly. She could count the number of times that had happened on one hand.

“Our guest, Mordecai, has applied for a position in Starfleet, and I have decided to grant his request. I need someone to show him around, give him an idea of how Voyager runs and help him acclimatise. Seven of Nine suggested that you would be suitable for the role.”

 _What the hell gave Seven that idea?_ Sayuri wondered, glad that the transmission was audio only so the Captain couldn’t see her mouth flapping like a fish as she struggled to find words. No doubt the Borg thought she was doing Sayuri a favour, and while she was grateful that Seven had considered her, she wasn’t sure what she could possibly do to help an ancient robot settle in when she herself still felt like an outsider. There was also a rumour going around that Mordecai had aced every Starfleet entrance exam in twenty minutes. If that was true, then she was hopelessly out of her depth. It had taken her months of solid revision to prepare for those tests.

Still, Janeway was the Captain, and presumably she knew what she was doing. Sayuri just hoped against hope that she was somehow up to the task. After all, Seven’s reputation was now riding on her as well; it would make the astrometrics officer look rather foolish if the person she recommended turned out to be utterly useless.

_How did I suddenly get into a situation where I could quite easily end up disappointing the two most frightening women on the ship? Oh God, please let this be a nightmare._

“I’d be honoured, ma’am,” she said out loud, managing to keep the panic from creeping into her voice. “When do I begin?”

“Mordecai’s shift starts in an hour. I’ve got him scheduled to spend a day in each department at first, starting with yours. I want you to keep an eye on him; make sure he understands how the ship operates, and answer any questions he might have.”

“A-Aye, Ma’am.”

“Very good. Report directly to me if any issues arise.”

The line disengaged, and Sayuri felt an ominous cloud of dread settle over her. It wasn’t in Seven’s nature to lie, but clearly she must have phrased the proposal in a way which greatly exaggerated the young Ensign’s talents, either intentionally or by accident. With a resigned sigh, she dragged herself fully out of bed and into the bathroom, staring dejectedly at the person she saw in the mirror.

 _What will I say to him?_ She thought, realising that she should start mentally preparing herself now if she didn’t want to embarrass herself later. _I don’t even know where to start._

Of course, she could think of any number of questions she wanted to ask Mordecai, but it didn’t really seem appropriate to bother him with them when she was meant to be the one showing him around. He would be with her to find out about Voyager, not vice-versa, and she really didn’t want him to see her as a nuisance.

Sayuri had just finished her morning routine and was about to get changed when a beep indicated that someone was waiting outside her quarters.

_Oh God, who is this now?_

“Computer, who is at my door?” She spoke quietly in case they could hear and might be offended that she’d ask rather than just let them enter.

“Ensign Mordecai,” the automated voice replied, as if the answer wasn’t one of the most terrifying things that Sayuri had ever heard.

_Oh shit._

“C-Come in,” she said instinctively, although it was barely more than a frightened squeak which left her throat.

The doors parted smoothly, and Mordecai stepped inside. He was tall, at around 6’3”, and radiated a presence which made it feel like he filled the entire room. Lidless eyes swept across her quarters, glowing with the richest sapphire blue that Sayuri had ever seen. As they came to rest on her, she was suddenly very aware of the fact that she was clad only in her night dress. His gaze was piercing, and she got the impression that he could see right through the thin fabric if he wanted to.

Unlike the last time she had seen him, albeit briefly, he now wore a blue Starfleet uniform. It clung to his frame, almost like a second skin, hugging the curvature of every sculpted muscle beneath. Except, she reminded herself, it wasn’t real muscle; just a facsimile to make him appear more human.

_Still, he’s…handsome._

Quite where that thought had come from, and what on Earth it said about her, Sayuri didn’t know, but she was mortified that it was popping up now, right when she wanted to try and make a good first impression. Instead of smiling and smoothly introducing herself like she’d briefly rehearsed, she glanced away, attempting to conceal the red flush of embarrassment which quickly crept into her cheeks.

_Wow, I’m hopeless._

She had little doubt that Mordecai saw absolutely everything, but he seemingly had the good grace to not mention it, or simply did not understand what it meant. Instead, he spoke, and Sayuri found her gaze being drawn back to him despite her urge to flee into the bedroom and lock the door.

“Ensign Yoshida,” he said, tilting his head slightly in a respectful greeting. “I apologize for arriving early and unannounced. I thought it would be agreeable if we could talk before our shift begins and get acquainted with each other, since we will be working together for the foreseeable future.”

“I…” Sayuri really didn’t know what to say in response, so she settled for a stalling tactic. “I…yes…of course. I just need to go…change…be right back.”

She half-scrabbled, half-backpedalled back into the bedroom. It was only when the sliding doors had swished shut, shielding her from view, that she let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Sayuri knew that she couldn’t take too long before Mordecai would begin to wonder what the problem was, but she allowed herself a minute to bury her face in her hands, trying to organise her thoughts and slow her racing heart.

_You can do this. Come on, deep breaths. Just focus on making it through the next minute without doing something stupid, and repeat until the day is over._

Returning to the door a few minutes later, she took a tremulous breath in a futile effort to steady her fraying nerves.

_Here goes nothing._

Sayuri stepped out and glanced around, put off for a moment when Mordecai was not where he had been before. Then she spotted him next to the window, inspecting one of her photos which rested on the shelf below. He was gazing at it with an utterly inscrutable expression; not that Sayuri had ever been much good at reading people anyway.

“The humans in this picture,” he said, turning to face her. “If I may ask; who are they?”

Sayuri drew closer. The photo he was indicating showed a middle aged Japanese man and woman, dressed smartly and smiling at the camera. In the background, the red towers and cables of the Golden Gate Bridge were just about visible, snaking away across a wide, open bay.

“They’re my parents,” Sayuri replied, feeling a small squeeze at her throat like it always did when she looked at that picture for too long. “It…It was taken on the day of my graduation…from Starfleet Academy.”

“Ah, they are your progenitors,” Mordecai glanced at the photo again, nodding in understanding. “It must have been a proud day for them.”

“It was,” Sayuri agreed, looking at the happy couple wistfully. “They were so pleased when they heard that I’d gotten my commission on Voyager. If only they’d known…”

Feeling like she might cry if they continued, Sayuri quickly changed the topic.

“A-Anyway, do you want to go to the mess hall? We can get some food before our…that is…if you…” she trailed off uncertainly, only realising once she’d started talking that she actually had no idea whether Mordecai even needed to eat.

_Only a minute before your first stupid blunder. Congratulations, that’s a new record._

“I do not require organic nutrition; however, your metabolism rate indicates that you have not yet had breakfast,” Mordecai replied, smiling. “So yes, the mess hall would seem like a good place to start.”

“T-Thank you.” Sayuri said, although she was not entirely sure what she was thanking him for. She also decided that she really didn’t want to know how he could tell what her metabolism rate was, for her own peace of mind.

 _Oh God,_ she thought, as they left her quarters. _How am I ever going to make it through the day?_

* * *

 Captain Janeway shook her head firmly, trying to clear it enough to focus on the report in front of her. In truth, the details of what the science team had uncovered so far regarding the cube were actually quite fascinating, and on any other day, it would have absorbed her completely. As it was, though, she was barely able to read more than a few sentences before she realised that ten minutes had passed and she’d become utterly side-tracked, staring off into space with an unfocussed, glassy-eyed gaze.

She couldn’t stop thinking about Seven. Janeway had hoped that the fact that she had hardly seen the Borg woman these past few days would have been enough to put her out of her mind, but it seemed that her rebellious subconscious had decided to compensate for the lack of visual stimulation by conjuring up images of its own. Quite improper, impossible images…

Alone in her ready room, she had the good grace to blush with slight embarrassment. These really weren’t the kind of things a starship Captain should be thinking about, especially while still on duty. If she caught any other members of her crew daydreaming like she was and slacking on their duties, she’d have had a few stern words to say to them. It wasn’t fair that she indulged in it herself.

 _Oh why not?_ Kathryn piped up. _If you’re not going to let yourself have Seven, at least allow yourself to fantasize. You’ve got to find some sort of middle ground or you’ll drive yourself crazy._

 _I’m debating with myself in my own head,_ she thought ruefully. _I’d say that’s already happened. And besides, it’s not a question of ‘allowing’ myself. Seven has expressed no interest in me whatsoever._

_You don’t know that unless you ask. Do you really think Seven, a novice to humanity, can figure this out by herself if you can’t? Perhaps she doesn’t even realise you’re an option._

_Well that’s fortunate then, because I’m not._

_Suit yourself. I can wait._

“You’ll be waiting a long time,” Janeway growled, abruptly standing up. This was getting her nowhere fast. She needed a coffee, and she needed to get this damned report over with. Marching over to the replicator, she ordered her usual mug of piping hot caffeine, and was just retrieving it from the alcove when her door chime sounded.

“Enter,” she called, smoothing her tone into something a bit more neutral than she felt.

The doors parted, and Janeway felt her stomach sink as Seven of Nine entered, her demeanour as cool and mechanical as ever. At least, that’s what the Captain told herself. The softening of Seven’s stern expression and the flicker of warmth which crossed her eyes were probably just tricks of the light. Yeah…definitely…the light.

“Seven,” Janeway greeted, ignoring her nagging uncertainties. “What brings you here?”

“Captain,” the Borg woman replied, and Janeway thought she could detect a trace of unease in the way she said the word. It would have been imperceptible to anyone else, but the Captain knew Seven well, and found that she had learnt to read her tiny ‘tells’.

“Is something the matter?” Janeway asked again, concerned when Seven made no move to elaborate or come further into the room.

“I am unsure,” the other woman replied, brow furrowing slightly. “I…It is nothing. I am wasting your time. Forgive me.”

She turned abruptly to leave, and instinctively, Janeway reached out and placed a hand on her upper arm, halting her before she reached the door. Seven seemed surprised at the contact, but did not pull away. Instead, she turned back to face the Captain, although she made no effort to remove the older woman’s hand.

“It’s clearly not ‘nothing’, Seven, if you felt the need to come all the way to the bridge to see me about it.” The Captain replied with a smile, but was suddenly very conscious of the fact that she was still touching Seven when there was really no reason to do so. In what felt like a slightly awkward gesture, she removed her hand, surprised at how warm and tingly it felt.

“Why don’t you have a seat?” she continued, knowing the Borg would probably refuse, but feeling the need to sit down herself.

“I pref…” Seven began, then in an almost unprecedented event, seemed to change her mind. “Thank you.”

She took a place on the sofa opposite Janeway, her posture as immaculate as it always was on the rare occasions that she agreed to be seated. The fact that she had done so with very little resistance was unusual. Janeway didn’t know whether to be pleased or worried.

“Now, what’s troubling you?” she asked, mentally going over a list of the most likely causes of Seven’s unease. The younger woman often came to her when she had questions regarding humanity or social interactions, but she sensed that wasn’t what was on Seven’s mind right now. It was possibly a personal problem; maybe new biological function reasserting itself after years of being supressed by Borg technology? In that case though, surely she would have gone to the Doctor rather than her?

“I believe I have made an error in judgement,” Seven stated evenly, although her inflection betrayed the difficulty she felt in admitting it.

“How so?” Startled, Janeway wondered where this was going. To her knowledge, Seven hadn’t made any mistakes in her work lately. In fact, she rarely made any at all, full stop.

“I…I suggested that you assign Ensign Yoshida as Moredcai’s liaison, but I…” Seven stopped again, grimacing with extreme annoyance. “…I do not know how to explain.”

“Just take your time,” the Captain urged gently, used to having to slowly tease information from Seven when she was feeling confused or vulnerable. “Why don’t you start at the beginning? Do you think you were wrong to make that suggestion?”

“I do not doubt the Ensign’s abilities,” Seven said slowly, clearly picking each word with deliberate intent. “But, I doubt Mordecai. I…it is illogical, he has done nothing, and yet I mistrust him. He gives me a bad ‘gut feeling’. I fear I have endangered Ensign Yoshida by assigning her to him.”

“Endangered?” Janeway’s eyes widened in alarm. Seven wasn’t the sort to use hyperbole, and yet, she could think of nothing which would make the Borg come to that conclusion. “Before we go any further, let me remind you that you didn’t assign her Seven, I did. You merely suggested a candidate; if it had not been her, it would have been someone else. I’m the one responsible, not you.”

Seven considered that for a moment, before finally nodding. That was another ominous sign. Janeway doubted very much that Seven truly agreed with what she’d just said, but if she was willing to concede the point, it could only be because she had something more important to say.

“I understand. However I do believe he is a danger to this ship. We should not have brought him on board. We…”

“Seven,” Janeway cut in, holding up her hands to stall the Borg’s tirade. “I know I told you to trust your instincts, but you have to understand that you can have a ‘bad feeling’ about someone for any number of reasons. It doesn’t mean they’re dangerous or hostile.”

“Explain,” Seven said, and Janeway could only chuckle at how direct she was, despite her underlying concern. There were very few people, on Voyager or off, who could give the Captain an order and expect to get away with it, much less have it carried out.

“It could be that you simply dislike the person in question. Something about them irritates you or just doesn’t mesh with your personality. Or maybe you’re jealous of them.”

“Jealous?” a hurt look crossed Seven’s face, and Janeway realised that maybe she hadn’t phrased herself very well. “Do you believe I am jealous of Mordecai? That would imply that you believe I am inferior to him.”

“I didn’t mean to imply that,” the Captain replied earnestly, retreating into damage-control mode. “Sorry, it was a poor choice of words. I do not believe you are inferior to him at all. But I freely admit that I felt touches of envy myself, and I wouldn’t be surprised if you felt the same. Seven, he surpassed every record for Starfleet aptitude tests with only five minutes of study; something not even Lieutenant Commander Data could achieve. His abilities are certainly exceptional, and a degree of envy is a natural, human response. It’s not a good one, but it is normal. The important thing is being able to move past it. Mordecai may be gifted, but that doesn’t make him superior to you, me, or anyone else.”

For some reason, Janeway felt a need to have Seven agree with her on this; to make the younger woman understand. It was silly, she knew; as the Captain, she hardly required the approval of someone who was not even a member of Starfleet, and she certainly didn’t have to justify herself to them. It also certainly wasn’t the first time that she and Seven had butted heads over a decision, but this felt more important. Almost like it was a personal, rather than professional dispute.

“Seven, there were people who initially felt the same about you. I won’t name names, but some people told me that they knew, on an instinctual level, that I was making the wrong decision,” she continued, pushing harder. “They thought I was insane for allowing a Borg drone to remain on Voyager, much less letting her join the crew. Yet just look how time has proved them wrong. You have become not only a valuable addition to the crew, but a distinctive individual in your own right. Now, the ship can’t do without you.”

_I can’t do without you._

Seven regarded her evenly, and this time Janeway truly was at a loss when it came to deciphering what her guest was feeling.

“Very well,” the Borg woman stated eventually, and Janeway let out a small sigh of relief. “I will attempt to give Mordecai the ‘benefit of the doubt’, and reject my initial impression of him.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” the Captain said, downing the last dregs of her now lukewarm coffee. “And thank you, for making the effort. I can’t order you to like him, but just try to give him a chance. Who knows? Sometimes it’s surprising how quickly people can grow on you.”

_In some cases, very surprising._

Seven looked at her, and Janeway was glad to see her small smile return as the mood imperceptibly lightened.

“How am I to know when I should trust my instincts, and when I should override them?” the Borg asked.

“That’s a tricky one, and I’m not sure there is any definite answer,” Janeway blew some air out of her mouth, leaning back on the sofa as she pondered Seven’s question. “It’s a balancing act, like so much in life is I guess. Our instincts are sharp. They draw on subconscious knowledge we can’t usually access; our primal ability to sense danger, or when someone is lying. But they can also be fooled. Humans evolved as prey animals, and we can often feel threatened when there is no real danger.”

“Yet you are able to do it so well,” Seven looked down, somewhat sheepishly, which just confused Janeway all the more. “You always know when to follow your ‘hunches’ and when to adhere to protocol.”

“Can I get that recorded?” The Captain smirked crookedly. “Then I could play it back to you the next time you come barging in here to question one of my decisions.”

“It is true that sometimes I do not agree with you,” Seven replied quietly, her soft voice a glaring contrast to her normal, clipped tone. “However, often, after the event, it is made clear that your course of action was indeed the best option. I find Starfleet an inefficient organisation, and yet, despite being part of this flawed system, you have managed to sustain this ship through adversity and almost certain destruction on many occasions. You have built a perfect machine out of imperfect parts; a contradiction to a species like the Borg. I…‘respect’ you for it.”

Janeway stared at Seven, stunned into silence by the uncharacteristic openness she was showing. The Borg was always a very honest person, yet she rarely, if ever, voluntarily displayed or spoke about her own personal feelings. It was why so many people on board saw her as the ‘ice queen’.

_How can anyone think that? If they could see what I’m seeing now…_

“I never realised you thought so highly of me,” Kathryn croaked, her throat suddenly very dry. It meant so much to hear such words coming from Seven. The crew respected Janeway, or so she hoped, because of her rank. It was an ingrained instinct for them to admire the Captain, and the mere fact she’d managed to get the position was enough for them. Seven, on the other hand, had made it clear many times that she cared little for the command structure. If she respected Janeway, it was because the Captain had truly earned it.

“If you ever thought otherwise, then I was in error.”

A moment of silence settled between them, during which Janeway just looked across the table at Seven, who had now returned to studying her intently.

She was so heart-achingly beautiful.

_It would be so easy. Just close those last few feet and put an end to all your misery. She wouldn’t resist. You heard her; she thinks the world of you, even though you don’t deserve it._

 “Captain!” Seven exclaimed suddenly, shocking Janeway out of the moment. Looking down, she saw the shattered remains of her coffee mug, which had slipped from her limp fingers and scattered across the floor. Seven’s voice had been disproportionately alarmed considering how minor the accident was. Janeway wondered if she too had been enraptured in the moment, and equally startled by its abrupt end.

“Oh dear, what a mess,” Janeway quickly busied herself gathering up the pieces, not trusting herself to look back up. Her resolve was hanging by a thread, and she feared that just one more glance would cause her to do something unforgivable.

“Do you require assistance?”

“No,” the Captain said quickly, stalling over gathering up every last fragment. “No, thank you. I’ve got it. I think we’re done here Seven. If there’s nothing else, you can return to your post.”

“I…” the Borg woman began, and Janeway realised that there were any number of things Seven could say which would shatter her command mask completely.

“Yes, Captain.”

Janeway didn’t respond, and remained in her tensed, crouched position. She sensed the other woman delaying at the door, and could only imagine the look on her face; and then she was gone, with a faint, pressurized ‘whoosh’.

* * *

 Sayuri entered the mess hall in a daze, her mind whirling from the day’s events. She had expected Mordecai to be good, brilliant even, from the little she’d heard, but that hadn’t stopped her from being utterly blown away when she saw him in action. Within an hour of arriving in the xenoscience department, he had translated an alien dialect they had been struggling with for months, found the underlying relationship between three previously unrelated genera of poisonous Actirian toads, and identified the culture of origin of seven unknown artefacts that pre-dated Voyager by tens of millennia. It had taken all her knowledge, not to mention physical fitness, just to keep up with him as he paced around the lab, seemingly able to do about five different things at once. He had explained that his synthetic mind consisted of millions of individual processes which could be compartmentalised into working on multiple tasks simultaneously. It was a difficult concept to wrap her head around, but its effectiveness was plainly evident.

Retrieving a tray of Neelix’s most recent culinary ‘masterpiece’, Sayuri found her usual spot in the corner, away from the main hustle and bustle around the food counter. Mordecai had said he would join her once he had finished the chemoanalysis of a fungi sample from the planet they’d stopped at several months back. In truth, Sayuri was rather surprised that he wanted to come at all. He didn’t need to eat, and she couldn’t imagine that her company was really worth the effort, especially not to him. Of all the people on the ship, it was probably only Seven who stood any hope of holding a conversation at his level.

Still, whatever reasons he had for spending time with her, even if it was just politeness, she was grateful for it. He was one of the first on Voyager to do so; odd, considering how little they really had in common.

_Perhaps he likes having someone drool all over him like a lovesick puppy. Or maybe he enjoys having things pointed out to him five minutes after he’s already figured them out._

Sayuri picked at her food dejectedly, and not just because it smelt like something she would have expected to find in a petri dish. It seemed to be a rule that the further out of her league someone was, or the more impossible a relationship would be, the more she was drawn to them. Mordecai certainly fit both those categories quite nicely, and as she could have predicted, she’d found herself spending less and less time actually working, and more and more time just watching him work, with what she suspected was the most stupid, awe-struck look on her face. There was something magnetic about him which completely swept her away.

It surprised Sayuri just how strong her attraction was. She felt like his alien appearance and the fact he wasn’t even a biological organism should at least bother her a bit, but it didn’t at all. All she saw when she looked at him was someone of exceptional ability, who still remained gracious and polite, even when confronted with the sort of bumbling fool most people didn’t spare a second glance.

_Whatever, it’s not like your feelings are important anyway. Mordecai will forget about you soon enough, as soon as he has the chance to speak with some of the other, more interesting members of the crew. Like, say, someone who can string a sentence together without stammering or blushing._

Lost in her thoughts, Sayuri didn’t see the figure approaching the table until he was right in front of her.

“What’s the matter little missy, all by yourself again?”

The young woman glanced up, and stifled a groan of annoyance as she recognised the brutish form of Ensign Chad Baker. The thickly built, ex-Maquis security officer had acted as if he wanted to befriend her when he first came on board, but his increasingly lecherous behaviour had quickly made his true intentions clear. After summoning up the courage to turn him down and tell him to leave her alone, he had seemingly taken it upon himself to make her life as miserable as possible whenever he could. Thankfully, they worked different shifts, so they rarely ran into one another, but the occasional times when they did, such as this one, were always unpleasant.

“Actually, I am meeting Ensign Mordecai,” she replied, hoping that would be enough to convince him that his bullying wasn’t worth the effort.

“What, the jumped-up tin opener?” Chad sneered, laughing at his own joke. “Yeah right. You expect me to believe that? I don’t see him, and besides, what would he want with you?”

“I don’t care whether you believe me or not. It’s really none of your business,” Sayuri snapped, turning back to her food. She could feel her face heating up, only this time it was from anger, rather than embarrassment. What was this jerk’s problem? Was he really still annoyed that she hadn’t accepted his advances? She may be lonely, but she hoped she’d never ever be that desperate.

“What if I want to make it my business?” Chad sat down next to her, causing the chair to creak slightly under his weight. Sayuri thought she could detect a faint whiff of alcohol on his breath. In the very short time that she’d actually known him, she’d discovered that he was a heavy drinker.

Suddenly aware that she might actually be in danger, Sayuri grabbed the edges of her tray, intending to quickly dart away from the table and back into the better-lit, busier part of the mess. There was no way Chad would try anything with people watching, but hidden in this corner, and drunk as he apparently was, who knew?

A meaty hand grabbed her wrist as she tensed to rise.

“Hey, where you do you think you’re going? I’m not done talking yet.”

Sayuri was about to shout for help, when she spotted another figure coming up behind her aggressor. An immediately recognisable pair of blue eyes glowed in the shadow.

“If I were you, I’d let Ensign Yoshida go,” Mordecai said, his voice completely calm.

Chad froze for a moment, but quickly regained his composure, leering cockily.

“So, she wasn’t lying eh? I’ll tell you now mate, you’re wasting your time with this one. She’s a frigid bitch.”

“You have two options, crewman,” Mordecai continued. “If you release her now, apologize, and leave the mess hall, I will take no further action. Otherwise, this incident will be reported to the Captain.”

“Ooh, you’ll ‘report’ me?” Chad twisted in his seat to face the synthetic man, but didn’t release his grasp on Sayuri’s wrist. He was squeezing tightly, and it was beginning to hurt. “And who do you think the Captain would believe? A trusted Starfleet officer, or some metal freak from the Stone Age?”

“Firstly, might I remind you that I am also a Starfleet officer. Secondly, she will not need to ‘believe’ me. I am equipped with both audio and video recording capabilities, and have captured this entire exchange. Now, I say again; leave.”

“You sure do talk pretty big,” Chad finally let go, and Sayuri took the opportunity to duck out from behind the table, retreating out of arms reach. By now, a small group of people had gathered around the other two, probably because of all the heads Mordecai had turned when he entered the room.

Despite his cocksure attitude, Sayuri could see a few droplets of sweat forming on Chad’s brow. He probably hadn’t intended to make such a scene, but now that everyone was watching, he was unlikely to back down. The man was confident to the point of arrogance, and in his drunken state, he would probably put his pride above taking the sensible course of action.

Sure enough, Chad stood up, kicking the chair aside. Sayuri heard someone behind request a security team to come and break up the commotion; however it would take them precious seconds to arrive. She watched helplessly as Chad squared up to Mordecai, and prayed that the alien knew how to defend himself. They were the same height, but Chad bulged with stocky muscle as opposed to the metal man’s more sculpted frame.

“Well, listen here, ‘Ensign’,” the burly man slurred. “We didn’t need the Borg bitch, and we sure as shit don’t need you. So why don’t you just fuck off back to wherever you came from, huh?!”

What happened next was over in the blink of an eye, yet Sayuri saw it all. She didn’t think she would ever forget it. Chad took a swing at Mordecai, right at his face. The synthetic didn’t move a muscle. He let the punch land, and didn’t budge an inch as Chad’s fist cracked across his jaw with a sickening crunch. It was like the security officer had tried to floor a duranium bulkhead. He recoiled, howling in pain and staring at his rapidly swelling, clearly broken hand.

Then, as if he was brushing lint from his jacket, Mordecai backhanded Chad across the chest. The force lifted the man, who must have weighed about 15 stone, clear off the deck, and sent him flying across the room to crash into an empty table, which buckled significantly under the impact. He tumbled heavily to the floor, scattering chairs, and lay there, groaning but unmoving. As he did, Tuvok and two security officers came running in through one of the doors, phasers drawn.

“Report,” the Vulcan barked, calm as ever, but raising his voice to ensure he was heard.

Everyone looked around in stunned silence for a few seconds. Sayuri wanted to speak up, to make it clear that Mordecai had just been defending her and then himself, but her courage faltered under Tuvok’s piercing gaze. Fortunately however, she didn’t have to say anything.

“It was Chad,” someone said. “I saw it. He grabbed Ensign Yoshida, and then attacked Mordecai.”

This was met with a chorus of agreement from the other onlookers, and Sayuri felt a surge of gratitude. Clearly, Mordecai hadn’t been in any danger from on oaf like Chad, but that didn’t change the fact that he had rescued her.

“Very well,” Tuvok said, clearly satisfied with the eyewitness testimony of so many Starfleet officers. “Ensign Palmer, retrieve a stretcher for Ensign Baker and escort him to sickbay.”

“Aye, Sir.”

“Are you okay?” Mordecai asked kindly, turning to Sayuri as Tuvok issued orders.

“Y-Yes, I think so,” she glanced up at him furtively, hoping her expression made it clear how thankful she was. “I’m just a bit jittery. It-It could have been worse, if you hadn’t come when you did.”

“No matter the time period or universe, there are always those who will attempt to claim what they want by force.” Mordecai replied solemnly. Sayuri was inclined to agree.

“Ensign Mordecai,” Tuvok approached them as Chad was wheeled out, still moaning pitifully. “While I commend you for your desire to protect Ensign Yoshida, I would suggest that next time, you exercise less force when doing so. I am certain both Ensign Baker and the furniture would be grateful.”

“Understood, Sir,” the synthetic replied.

“I will need official statements from both of you, however it can wait until Ensign Baker has recovered. In the meantime, I advise you get some rest. Be assured, he will remain in custody until this incident has been satisfactorily resolved.”

“Thank you, sir,” Sayuri mumbled.

Tuvok walked off, talking on the comm with the Captain and arranging for a cleanup team to come and repair the damaged table. Gradually, the rest of the crew began to disperse as well. A few of them uncertainly approached Mordecai, reassuring him that they’d speak on his behalf if the Captain decided to order an official inquest. Sayuri doubted it would come to that though. Chad was well known for his bullying, and had been on report many times for similar minor incidents. Were they back in the Federation, he would never have made it into Starfleet. Out here though, they needed every man they could get, and there was no questioning Chad’s ability to hold his own in a fight.

 _Well._ Sayuri thought, sneaking an admiring gaze at Mordecai. _Against most people anyway. No doubt he’ll think twice before trying anything else._

“Were you able to eat before you were interrupted?” Mordecai asked.

“N-No,” Sayuri replied, only remembering what she had come here for in the first place when her stomach let out an embarrassingly loud growl of protest. “It doesn’t look like I will now though; Neelix is shutting up for the night.”

“Perhaps you can replicate something.”

“I wish I could,” she said glumly. “But I’ve used all my ration slips for the week.”

She didn’t mention that she’d actually blown them all earlier that evening on a fancy dress she hoped would make her look less plain. It had been a stupid, impulsive decision which she’d immediately regretted. As if something like that would mean anything to Mordecai. Unless he came from a society which considered short, skinny Asian girls attractive, she was undoubtedly wasting her time.

“You forget that I possess an internal reactor,” Mordecai said, gesturing to the door. “It would be a simple matter to power the replicator for you.”

For the umpteenth time that day, Sayuri was stunned into momentary silence. Just when she thought she was beginning to understand this strange, wonderful man, he came out with something which would be unbelievable if said by anyone else.

“I…” She could sense a small fluttering in her chest, accompanied by a kind of nervous anticipation which she hadn’t allowed herself to feel for quite a while. “I don’t know what to…thank you…I-I would be very grateful.”

“Do not mention it.”

Mordecai smiled a dazzling, chrome grin, and in that moment, Sayuri knew she was in deep.


	6. Dark Prophecy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seven gets an unexpected glimpse of the past, and a fleeting insight into Mordecai's true nature. In the present, an old foe returns.

Seven awoke to the sound of screaming.

Her eyes snapped open, mind instantly alert and focussed on the disturbance. Her cortical implant told her that her cycle had been interrupted and was incomplete; an unusual and worrying occurrence. She stepped from her alcove, and realised at once that something was very, very wrong.

She was no longer on board Voyager.

Her alcove was attached to a small piece of deck which had apparently been sheared away, as if by some form of cutting beam. It was buckled and charred around the edges, and rested on the ground like an island in the middle of the expanse she found herself in. The loss of power after it had been severed from Voyager must have been what caused her cycle to end early.

Surveying her surroundings, Seven was met with a vision of a hellish landscape, like something out of a nightmare. At least, she assumed this was what a nightmare would look like, never having experienced one herself.

The ground was pockmarked with an endless desert of craters and debris, churned into a charcoal mud which obliterated whatever it may have resembled before. Skeletal ruins of buildings clawed desperately from the shattered earth, their frames blackened, charred, and forlorn. Fires burnt in all directions, some blazing strong as they gutted what little remained intact, and others smouldering quietly amongst the ashes. The air was full of the same grey, sooty dust. It hung like a miasma of pestilence above the carnage. Even the sky was a carnal shade of crimson with thick, swollen clouds dividing it into long, bloody streaks.

Seven could not identify which culture this was from the few tiny, distinctive pieces of architecture she could see. Whoever they were though, something awful was happening to them. She took some small solace in the fact it was not the Borg who were responsible. The Collective would never indulge in such needless destruction.

Tentatively, she took a step forward, dismounting the small piece of Voyager and searching for somewhere to take shelter while she could attempt to ascertain what had happened. As she did, her heel pierced something on the ground with an ominous snapping sound. Looking down, she realised with a sense of revulsion that it was a skull. Beyond it was another, and then an almost fully formed skeleton. In fact, what she had taken for a slight unevenness in the terrain was actually a sea of desiccated remains. Most were nothing more than bones, presumably stripped bare by the flames which had devastated this area, but some were still quite fresh. Seven tried not to look too closely. Whoever they were, they were not human, but bore a certain resemblance. The skull she had crushed was elongated, and some of the skeletons had four distinct arms.

She had seen such a form before. It was the shape Mordecai had borne when he arrived on Voyager.

Another scream sounded, nearer than before, and Seven could also make out a distant thundering rumble. It was accompanied by a bright flash of light. Quickly, she picked her way over the ash-choked, carcass-riddled ground to the cover of a blown out wall. Turning her gaze skyward, she found the sources of the disturbance.

Great, shadowy ships cruised through the sky like birds of prey on the hunt. It was difficult to tell, but from the speed they were moving, Seven surmised they must be massive; Dreadnaught classes many times larger than Voyager. Trails of bombs fell from their undersides, each one impacting on the planet’s surface with a muted blast. In the distance, Seven thought she caught a glimpse of more intact areas through the haze, although these were quickly being reduced to rubble by the onslaught.

Suddenly, she was very afraid for Voyager, and for Kathryn. Had they stumbled into a warzone while she had been regenerating? Impossible. There had been no planets for days in every direction. Yet, here she was, and the rest of the ship was nowhere to be seen, although with so much wreckage everywhere, it was possible she was standing in the middle of it. Such thoughts were not productive however, so she worked under the assumption that she alone had somehow been removed from the ship and transported here.

Remaining low, Seven advanced with her back to the wall. She made a point of memorising her route, so that she could find her way back to her alcove if need be. Pressing up against a corner, she peeked round, and got her first sighting of other life forms.

A small group of the four-armed aliens were hurrying along the street. Two of them were fully grown, but the other three were small; children, Seven guessed. A family perhaps? They were clad in simple robes, which looked like they might have once been elegant, but were now soiled with mud and soot. She could just about discern them talking in low, panicked voices, but the universal translator could not interpret what they were saying. She held back, not wanting to reveal herself. It was impossible to determine whether they had weapons, and in their distressed state, they may have mistaken her for an enemy.

Suddenly, a scarlet energy beam erupted from within a nearby ruined shop front. It sliced across the street and struck one of the taller aliens. He, for Seven thought it was a male, dove to the floor, but did not completely escape in time. The laser carved along his left hand side, severing one arm at the shoulder and the other at the elbow. He fell to the ground, screaming, as the others cried out in fear. A second beam came, this time finding its mark. Seven was glad his body was now obscured from view, but the sudden stench of burnt flesh which assaulted her nostrils told her more than enough. The other tall alien, the female as Seven assumed, made some form of keening noise which was unlike any sound a human would make. It adequately conveyed her anguish nonetheless.

Seven was torn. She knew that it was her duty to assist the aliens, who were clearly not soldiers. Certainly, it was what Kathryn would have done, without a moment’s hesitation. However, there was nothing she could do now for the male, and she would be unarmed against whatever was attacking them. All she could hope to do was provide a distraction while the rest of the family escaped. But what if it was not enough? If the adversary killed her and then killed them as well, it would all have been for nothing. She did not wish to be terminated. She did not want to leave her hiding place.

 _I am experiencing fear._ Seven noted. She had felt it before, although it was still a relatively new sensation. This was stronger though; a selfish, instinctual fear for her very survival, the kind which paralysed every muscle and overrode rational thought. She willed herself to respond, but could do nothing but watch as their adversary stepped into the light.

She had seen him before. There was no mistaking the metal he was made from.

It was Mordecai, however it was not the man who now inhabited Voyager. It was not even the being they had brought on board. This was something altogether more powerful and all the more terrifying.

He towered over Seven at eight and a half feet in height. His legs were longer than before, with an elongated ankle joint like a terran feline, and viciously sharp talons in the place of feet. His hands too bore the same claws, all four of them; and from the back of each wrist, two foot swords emerged, their edges glowing with some form of concentrated plasma. The biggest change though was his head, which bore no semblance to the human features he had recently worn. It was shaped like an elongated diamond, with the top point comprised of two great, tapering fins. From his upper jaw, four mechanical tentacles emerged, feeling the air with a blind malevolence. The lower jaw was split into two serrated mandibles, but the worst thing of all was his eyes. There were eight of them, like a spider, and every one burned with an eldritch hatred which rolled off him in palpable waves.

He wore no clothes, and his brilliant shining carapace was dulled by layers of caked-on blood and gore. He reeked of death, and as he stalked forward, the shadow of one of the great warships passed overhead, cloaking him in a darkness which fit him like a second skin.

Seven clamped a hand over her mouth, her normally unflappable demeanour deserting her completely as he cut down the family. He didn’t hesitate or speak a word as he ended their lives quickly and with an efficiency which the Collective would undoubtedly admire. His four arms made short work of the grizzly duty, and pleading wails swiftly gave way to the soft sound of blood sizzling off his super-heated cutting weapons.

More bombs fell, this time close enough for Seven feel the shockwave. Boulders tumbled, shattering on the street and sending shards of rock scattering in all directions. In her peripheral vision, Seven caught a brief glimpse of similar movement above her, and before she had time to react, a piece of masonry struck her head, hard. Dazed, she staggered forward, falling to all fours. Mordecai, standing unmoving as the scattered remnants of a collapsing empire came crashing down around him, was the last thing she saw.

* * *

 “Regeneration cycle incomplete.”

Seven’s eyes opened for a second time. Mordecai! He had almost been on top of her when she’d passed out. She had to escape, to survive, and warn the others. Crying out in a blind panic, she tore herself from her alcove with enough force to bend the prongs which held her in place. It was only when she was finally free that she realised she was no longer on the alien battlefield, surrounded by death and apocalyptic devastation. The comfortingly familiar grey of the cargo bay walls enclosed her on all sides, and spinning around, she saw that her alcove was once again where it belonged, although slightly damaged from her struggle. There were no marks on the floor; nothing to indicate it had been displaced.

She also realised that she was not alone.

“Seven!” a husky, alarmed tone sounded behind her. “My god! What’s wrong?”

“Captain?” Seven questioned, her voice sounding timid and small in the large cargo bay. The fear and horror which had been racing through her just seconds ago had not completely abated, yet she found the Captain’s presence to be a great comfort.

She had been in a ruined city….there had been someone….someone familiar….so much destruction…

How could she not remember? Her cortical node granted her a perfect memory, so how could she not recall what she had seen? Just moments ago it had seemed so clear, but now, even as she tried to grasp at the fleeting images, they slipped away until all that was left was a sense of lingering unease.

“Seven.” Janeway approached her cautiously, her face lined with worry. “What happened? You’re so pale.”

“I…had a ‘dream’,” the word felt odd coming from her mouth. She did not dream, and yet, it was the only term which seemed appropriate.

“More like a nightmare by the looks of it,” Janeway gave her a half-hearted smile, but concern still lingered at the edges of her eyes. “I thought that didn’t happen?”

“It does not,” Seven stated uncertainly, although it was in direct contradiction to the evidence. “Regeneration is not like regular sleep. Such an event should not be possible.”

She regretted saying it almost immediately when Janeway’s expression became sombre. She did not like it when the Captain was distressed.

“I think you should go to sickbay.”

Seven sighed, but she knew that it was the right course of action. She couldn’t banish the unwelcome sensation that there was more to what had just occurred than a simple change in her physiology. The dream had somehow been important. If only she was able to remember it. Then again, if the feelings it had inspired were indicative of the subject matter, perhaps it was best that she could not.

“I will comply,” she said. If nothing else, it would hopefully bring Kathryn some ‘peace of mind’. Linking her hands behind her back, she adopted her standard pose. “Was there something you required?”

“Huh?”

“You were present when I…awoke. What did you wish to see me about?”

“Oh,” Kathryn glanced away, rubbing the back of her neck. When she next spoke, it was hesitant, and stilted; not at all like her usual, confident demeanour. “I was, er, just passing…when I heard you, so I thought I would, um, see what was happening.”

Seven wondered where the Captain would have been going to be ‘just passing’ the cargo bay, but she accepted the explanation. In truth, she was always pleased to be in Kathryn’s company, and did not want to discourage the older woman by questioning her further.

“Are you sure you’re okay Seven?” Janeway asked again. “Do you want me to accompany you to sickbay?”

Seven did want that, very much so, but she knew that it was not required. She was perfectly capable of making the trip on her own, and did not want to delay the Captain.

“That will not be necessary,” she finally said, before remembering the correct polite response. “Thank you for the offer.”

Kathryn smiled slightly at that.

“Anytime. Now, if you excuse me, I’ve got a meeting with Ensign Mordecai and Ensign Yoshida. It seems the latest addition to the crew had a bit of an altercation.”

“An altercation?” Seven enquired, wondering why the mere mention of Mordecai’s name was enough to ‘set her teeth on edge’.

“Ensign Baker threw a punch at him,” Janeway made a face, as if she could smell something unpleasant. Seven knew how much Kathryn disliked it when the crew was not functioning harmoniously, having been the cause of several such disturbances herself in the past. “I’ll fill everyone in at the next staff meeting when I have more details.”

“Very well,” Seven acknowledged. “I will report to sickbay.”

“Yes…yes, sorry for holding you up.” Kathryn said as they headed for the door. Just before they went their separate ways, she turned back to Seven, and added. “I don’t know what the Doctor will have to say…but if you want to talk about it, or have any questions, I’m available.”

Janeway had of course told her this before, under a similar set of circumstances. Ordinarily, Seven would have been irritated at someone else for repeating themselves, but she was warmed by the fact that Kathryn would make a point of reminding her. It seemed that attraction was indeed most illogical.

* * *

 “Yes…that would work,” B’Elanna nodded thoughtfully as she studied the padd Mordecai had handed to her.

Sayuri watched the whole exchange with intense curiosity, all the while trying to make herself look like she was focussed on the display in front of her. As Mordecai’s liaison, she was getting to see parts of the ship which she had barely set foot in before. Today he was assigned to engineering, a prospect Sayuri had been apprehensive about, knowing the Chief Engineer’s somewhat impatient temperament and dislike for strangers fiddling in her engine room. In hindsight though, she probably should have guessed that Mordecai would be a natural with the warp core, just like he seemed to be with everything else. B’Elanna was seemingly taking it in her stride. Sayuri had heard all sorts of horror stories about the half-Klingon’s clashes with Seven over just about everything, and had hoped that B’Elanna wouldn’t take Mordecai’s suggestions the wrong way. For whatever reason however, the woman’s famed belligerent attitude seemed to be on holiday today, and she was all smiles as she talked over the finer points of warp-field dynamics with the latest star on engineering.

To tell the truth, Sayuri was beginning to feel tiny prickles of jealousy. She had no real engineering experience herself, and couldn’t contribute in any meaningful way to the discussion. In fact, she’d been relegated to a console several metres away, doing some mundane task she was almost sure had been made up just to keep her busy. She was used to being side-lined, and wouldn’t have minded so much, except for the fact that B’Elanna seemed to be taking the opportunity to cosy up to Mordecai a bit too much.

_Like any department head wouldn’t do the same. He’s a genius; of course they want to sweet-talk him into staying._

Sayuri sighed. She knew she was acting like a moody schoolgirl, but she couldn’t help but feel a bit possessive of Mordecai. In her mind, she had been the first person he had really socialised with, and she had also been the first to truly observe his talents; something which gave them a special bond, or so she thought. It also didn’t help that she had a major crush on him which showed no signs of disappearing any time soon.

 _Perhaps it’s for the best._ She thought sadly. _The sooner he finds other people to be with, the sooner I can forget about that hopeless idea._

A shrill whistle sounded over the comm, signalling the end of the current rotation. After a brief bout of shaking hands, and exchanging promises to meet up for drinks and pool on the holodeck sometime, Mordecai extracted himself from the engineering crew and headed over to where Sayuri was powering down her console.

“Is all well?” he enquired.

“It is now,” _Oh god, why did I say that?_ “I-I mean I’ll be glad to head back to my quarters…it’s been a long day.”

“A curious expression,” Mordecai observed as they began to wind their way through Voyager’s corridors. “Do humans perceive the passage of time differently depending on the activity they’re performing?”

“It sometimes feels that way,” Sayuri mumbled.

They walked in silence for a bit before Mordecai spoke again.

“I have noticed…your voice; it is different from the others.”

“Is it?” Sayuri squeaked, suddenly very self-conscious. “W-What do you mean?”

“The intonation, the syllables you stress. It is more than simply a genetic variation in vocal cords.”

“D-Do you mean my accent?” Sayuri sincerely hoped he did, otherwise she could add the way she spoke to the list of things embarrassing things about herself.

“Ah, yes, that is the appropriate word,” Mordecai considered her for a second. “From where do you hail?”

“Japan,” the young woman replied, about to add more before she realised that Mordecai would have already accessed the relevant database entries.

“Earth. North Atlantic. Island off the east coast of Asia. One moment,” Mordecai’s head twitched slightly as he thought. “I see.”

“See what?”

_“Earth’s culture is comprised of many sub-units, each originally possessing distinct linguistic differences.”_

Sayuri stopped in her tracks, staring at Mordecai.

 _“Did…did you just…?”_ she whispered, stumbling slightly over words she had almost forgotten how to say.

 _“You do speak Japanese, don’t you?”_ Mordecai replied, puzzled.

_“I-I do. Just not for a…well, a very long time. I only ever spoke it with my parents.”_

“Oh,” Mordecai said, returning to English. “In that case I will desist.”

 _“No!”_ Sayuri cried quickly. _“No. It’s okay. I-I like it.”_

Hearing it again, after all these years…it made Sayuri feel close to home in a way she hadn’t ever experienced since arriving in the delta quadrant. It was ironic, perhaps, that this reminder came from a being even more lost than she was.

Mordecai smiled, and Sayuri recalled the first time she had seen him do it; the expression had been strange, and slightly alien. Now though, it seemed as natural as if it was anyone else. She wondered if it was because now she was attracted to him, or if he was simply learning to emulate humans better the longer he was on board.

All too soon, they were stood outside the door to her quarters, and Sayuri was faced with an awkward choice. On the one hand, she wanted to run and hide under the blankets in her bedroom and never come out. The closer she got to Mordecai, the more and more paralysed with fear she became that she would do something to scare him off. On the other hand, she desperately wanted him to stay. There was so much he could teach her; so many things he had seen and done and she had only begun to scratch the surface with her hesitant inquiries. She remembered the previous night, when he had stopped by to power her replicator. He hadn’t stayed long, but even in that short space of time, she had learnt so much. She would have stayed up all night just listening to him talk, if he would allow it.

Was there really any chance for him and her? For the little pipe dream she’d constructed in her mind? She supposed she’d never know unless she did something about it. Being proactive and forward were definitely not Sayuri’s strong suits, but trying had to be better than clinging to hope until it was inevitably snatched away from her by circumstances beyond her control.

“W-Would…um,” Sayuri felt rather faint, and found it impossible to do anything other than stare at her fidgeting hands, which were noticeably trembling. It was pointless to hope that Mordecai wouldn’t see, he picked up on everything; she just hoped he didn’t know what it meant. “Do you want…I mean, you d-don’t have to, but, um…”

Mordecai laid a hand on her shoulder. For someone strong enough to effortlessly throw a fully grown man across a room, he was surprisingly gentle.

_“Yes, I would. Come on, I’ll make you that dish you like.”_

_“I…”_ Sayuri could barely hear herself over her own racing heart as she followed Mordecai inside. _“...thank you.”_

_Thank you for noticing me._

“Ensign Mordecai, come in,” the Captain’s voice abruptly cut through on the comm.

“This is Mordecai,” the metal man acknowledged, tapping his communicator. “Go ahead.”

“I want to see you in my ready room. Is Ensign Yoshida with you at the moment?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Good, bring her too. Janeway out.”

Sayuri felt her blood run cold as her feelings about the evening shifted from hopeful optimism to a foreboding dread. Being summoned by the Captain could mean any number of things, but the only reason she could think of was to discuss the incident in the mess hall yesterday. She had hoped that giving their report to Tuvok would be the end of the matter, but apparently that wasn’t the case.

“It looks like your meal will have to wait,” Mordecai said, frowning.

As they retraced their steps and headed for the turbolift, Sayuri felt like a prisoner being led to execution. She didn’t understand how Mordecai could be so calm, especially as any anger the Captain had would undoubtedly be directed mainly at him for striking Ensign Baker. Surely Tuvok had told Janeway it had been in self-defence, right? Right?

They were nearly at the lifts when Voyager suddenly lurched violently. Sayuri stumbled, grunting as she impacted heavily with the wall. She would have fallen completely if she hadn’t hastily grabbed Mordecai’s arm. He didn’t stagger at all, standing in place as if there had been no movement whatsoever.

“What the..?” Sayuri began as Voyager shuddered again. She could sense the ship accelerating beneath her feet, changing course rapidly. Quickly, before another tremor could plant her on her backside, she ran to the end of the corridor, gripping the bulkhead firmly for support. Out of the window, she could see the stars racing past as Voyager turned on the spot. Then, they were blotted out, as a colossal shape obscured them from view. There was a ship just off Voyager’s starboard bow, and Sayuri recognised the gunmetal grey pipework and sickly green glow almost immediately. It was a design all the members of the crew were familiar with, although they really wished they weren’t.

Klaxons sounded, and the corridor lights dimmed, replaced with the flashing warning signs of a general red alert and call to battle stations.

“What is it?” Mordecai asked, eyeing the craft outside with an incongruously passive interest. “An unusual shape…cubic in design.”

Sayuri opened her mouth to reply, but was drowned out by a voice which sounded from every speaker simultaneously. It was cold and mechanical, like hearing something dead which had been brought partially back to life.

**“We are the Borg. Existence as you know it is over. We will add your biological and technological distinctiveness to our own. Resistance is futile.”**

* * *

 “We’re caught in the transwarp wake!” Tom shouted over the sound of alarm bells and sparking consoles as he desperately tried to wrestle Voyager back onto a steady course. “Hold on to something, this is going to be bumpy!”

Janeway half sat, half fell back into her chair. On the viewscreen, the stars blurred past in a dizzying acrobatic display as Voyager tumbled end over end. Occasionally, a brief glimpse of a dark green shape reminded her that it was indeed the Borg who they were about to face. Cursing silently, she wondered how on Earth the Cube had managed to get the drop on them.

It had come out of nowhere. She’d just asked Ensigns Mordecai and Yoshida to report to the bridge when the Borg vessel had burst out of slipspace directly in front of them and begun closing at an alarming speed. Were it not for Tom’s remarkable piloting ability, they would have crashed headlong into it. As it was, they’d missed the Cube by less than a kilometre, and the roiling energies of the advanced propulsion system the Borg used were now tossing Voyager about like an ocean-faring skip in a hurricane.

Janeway clasped the arms of her chair tightly, knuckles white. Of all the hostile races they’d encountered in their travels, there were none more dangerous, more powerful, or more relentless than the Borg. Every time their paths crossed, it was a brush with death, and each time they had only barely escaped with their lives, Looking around, she could see that the rest of her staff were having similar thoughts, although all of them retained their composure. Even Harry Kim, the most comparatively green amongst them, stayed focused on his console, his fear only showing as a noticeable tremor in his hands.

As Tom managed to regain some semblance of control, Janeway heard the sound of the turbolift door opening. Glancing back over her shoulder, she saw Seven of Nine, primly collecting herself off the floor of the lift where she had apparently been thrown when the ship was flipped. The Captain’s heart skipped a beat when she saw the bright crimson of blood on the blonde woman’s forehead, but it quickly became apparent that it was just a minor scratch; nothing serious.

_Thank god._

“Report,” Janeway barked, returning her attention to the Cube on the viewscreen, which was coming around for another pass at them.

“Minor injuries on all decks. No fatalities,” Tuvok replied. It was something, but Janeway knew this was only the beginning.

“All systems online,” Harry chimed in, his voice shaking ever so slightly, “although that close call knocked off about 20% of our shields.”

“Evasive manoeuvres,” the Captain ordered. “Don’t let them get a lock on us with their holding beam. Tom, if you see an opportunity to break away cleanly, take it.”

“No need to tell me twice!” Tom yelled, already keying in the commands. Voyager strafed to one side just as a focused shaft of green light shot from the Cube, sweeping the space they had occupied a second earlier.

“Attack pattern gamma,” Janeway said, her calm, steely voice belying the panic she hid just beneath the surface. “Tuvok, target their tractor beam emitters and weapons systems.”

As a starship Captain with almost unparalleled experience dealing with the Borg, Janeway knew that Voyager was no match for a Cube. A single Borg ship could take on an armada and still emerge victorious, and their decentralised systems allowed them to sustain catastrophic damage and continue functioning. The only hope for her ship and her crew was to escape, and that meant crippling their enemy’s means of pursuit.

It was a desperate gamble at best. Every other time they had faced the Borg, they’d had some kind of edge; circumstances were in their favour, or she possessed a bargaining chip she could use to her advantage. This time, though, it was a straight-up confrontation; the kind which had decimated an entire Federation fleet at Wolf 359. Janeway tried not to dwell on that sobering thought. There were always ways to tip the scales, she just had to find them.

One advantage of facing the Borg over other species, like the Hirogen, was that the Collective would not destroy them so long as they believed there was a chance of assimilating them instead. It was hardly a silver lining, but it meant that they had a bit more time than they might have had otherwise. Of course, they stood even less of a chance in shipboard combat. Borg drones were practically immune to all but their most powerful weapons, and a Cube carried enough of them to simply flood her tiny vessel with overwhelming numbers.

Janeway rose from her chair, her eyes coming to rest on Seven, who now occupied the aft tactical station. The Borg woman was even paler than she had been in the cargo bay earlier, and the way she remained utterly fixated on her display was an indication of the terror she must have been feeling inside. Janeway’s heart went out to the young drone, and she wished she could do something to reassure her, even if it was just a comforting pat on the shoulder…but she knew that it was neither the time nor the place. The best she could do for Seven now was to be the Captain, and guide them all safely through this encounter.

_I won’t let them take her. Not again._

Explosions resonated off the port hull; the Borg had opened fire. It was a standard tactic: limit the opposing vessel’s manoeuvrability long enough to snag them with a holding beam, or alternatively, disable their engines.

**“We are the Borg. You will be assimilated. Your culture will adapt to service us. Resistance is futile.”**

“Someone turn that damn thing off!” Janeway shouted. “Tuvok, are we in range?”

“Firing now, Captain.”

Blazing streaks of orange light lanced from the small Intrepid-class ship, splashing across the Cube’s shields and having about as much effect as rain on concrete. They were followed, however, by a salvo of torpedoes, which detonated with deadly force against the enemy vessel’s hull. Small plumes of debris drifted lazily away into space, but the Cube was otherwise unharmed, and continued its relentless advance. Another beam erupted from its surface, this one designed to cut rather than capture. It clipped Voyager’s defences, rocking the ship ominously.

“Shields down to 48%, Captain,” an alarmed Harry called out.

“Take us in to 300 metres, Tom,” Janeway ordered. “Their weapons will have a harder time tracking us at close range.”

“Aye ma-ahhhhh!” the pilot cried out in surprise and pain as another hit caused something in his console to blow, sending sparks and shrapnel in all directions. He was blasted backwards out of his chair by the force of the localised explosion, crumpling to the deck. Janeway could only spare a moment to assess his condition as she rushed to take his place. It looked like he had been thrown clear of the worst of it, but he was definitely out for the count.

“Re-route helm control!” she bellowed. To her left, Chakotay was already ordering two junior officers to get Tom to sickbay

The delay cost them. Without Tom manually inputting navigational commands to throw the Borg off, Voyager maintained its heading for a brief moment; an easy trajectory to predict for a mechanically minded species. Like the tendrils of some mythical serpent, holding beams lashed the tiny ship, quickly draining its remaining shield before affixing to the hull.

“The Cube has locked on a tractor beam.” Seven stated. Her voice was dull and inflectionless, but Janeway could hear every roiling emotion it concealed. After all, Seven had more reason than any of them to fear the Borg.

_No. They can’t have her. Not this time._

Voyager groaned as it was brought to a halt. Janeway knew what was coming next, and felt strangely numb at the prospect. To think that just minutes ago, she had been joking with Chakotay about the upcoming personnel reports, and now they had mere seconds to prepare for a full-scale invasion. There wasn’t even enough time to dwell on how hopelessly outmatched they were, something which she was glad of, truthfully. Stopping to think about how desperate the situation had suddenly become would not be productive at all.

“Have the replicators dispense emergency phasers,” she said, relying on her training to speak the words for her, before opening a ship-wide comm channel. “All hands, this the Captain. Prepare for boarding on all decks. Retrieve weapons from the nearest locker if you can, or the nearest replicator if you can’t. Your primary objective is to stop the Borg from gaining a foothold on Voyager. Protect engineering and sickbay at all costs. Good luck everyone, and give them hell. Janeway out.”

“Captain!” Seven cried, and Janeway turned to see the swirling green energies of a Borg transporter signal right behind her. She darted to one side as the drone materialised, and Chakotay took the opportunity to blast it squarely in the back with a phaser he’d retrieved from the secret compartment in the command chair. The Borg collapsed, implants twitching, and dematerialised as quickly as it had appeared.

“They will target the most vital systems and personnel first,” Seven stated, face ashen. “Their initial aim is to disrupt the ship’s functionality before sending across the main force of drones to begin assimilation.”

“Then we’d better be ready,” Janeway growled. “Grab a weapon.”


	7. Boarding Action

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The crew of Voyager fight tooth-and-nail as the Borg attack, and Mordecai's combat prowess is revealed. Seven struggles to protect Janeway from their mechanical clutches.

Pandemonium reigned as Voyager’s crew fought the Borg tooth and nail for every inch of deck. Sayuri had heard the old saying ‘no plan survives contact with the enemy’, but she had never realized quite how true it was until now. The Starfleet personnel were trying to mount a coordinated defence, but tactical drones were everywhere, and the battle had quickly degenerated into isolated groups simply doing their best to survive. Hand phasers whined, set to kill, and every now and then, the concentrated blast of a compression rifle could be heard from the few crewmembers that’d been lucky enough to get to a weapons locker before the Borg arrived. Some unfortunate souls had been reduced to fighting with their bare hands, desperately grappling with opponents ten times as strong as themselves. Sayuri swore she could occasionally make out the sound of snapping bone.

The young Ensign couldn’t remember being more terrified. They had fought the Borg before, but that had been as a ship; one single unit, which lived or died together. She had never had to go face to face with the enemy, had never had to rely on her own skills as a warrior; skills which, beyond the basic combat training all officers were given, she did not possess. She was a scientist, not a soldier.

Ironically, it was her gut-wrenching fear which kept her going. Every other instinct told her to curl up in a corner and simply pray that this nightmare would end, but her fear told her that such an act would be suicide.

That, and the fact that Mordecai was still with her. After seeing his strength in the mess hall, she could think of no one else she’d rather have at her side in a fight for survival.

“Communications are out,” the android muttered, trying his badge. “The Borg might be using some kind of jamming signal. We have to find the Captain.”

A cry of pain sounded just around the corner, and suddenly a security officer was hurled against a wall not two feet from where Sayuri stood. His neck twisted at an impossible angle with a sickening, wet crunch, and she had to stifle a scream as he slid to the floor. His lifeless body convulsed for a second, then fell still. Mordecai, ever the pragmatist, snatched the phaser compression rifle from the man’s hands before he hit the ground. Holding it up, he quickly scanned the weapon, then tossed it to Sayuri.

“Take this,” he called, insistent, but so calm that Sayuri could swear he was oblivious to the chaos around them. “Keep it close and stay behind me.”

“I-I-I can’t shoot!” Sayuri cried. “You should have it!”

“I have my own,” Mordecai replied. The metal plates on the back of one of wrists shifted, rearranging and elongating until a shiny, chrome facsimile of the rifle sprouted from the end of his arm. “Stay with me. I will not let them hurt you.”

A promise like that would be meaningless from anyone else, but from Mordecai, Sayuri was able to believe it. Nodding mutely, she clutched the gun to her chest. She had always been a hopeless marksman, and had only barely scraped through that part of her yearly review. _Fortunately_ , the Borg tended to get pretty close, making it almost impossible to miss.

“We must ensure the safety of the command staff,” Mordecai stated. “Our destination is the bridge. Follow me.”

Sayuri hardly needed to be told. She wouldn’t be parted from Mordecai if her life depended on it, which, she supposed, it probably did. She stuck as close as she could without tripping him up. Cautiously, the two of them advanced around the corner.

The hallway was a battlefield. Blast marks adorned the walls, and phaser shots ricocheted in every direction. Crew members shrieked and cursed; some calling out commands, others wailing in fear as drones grabbed them and began the injection of nanoprobes before transporting back to the Cube. Above the din, the constant mantra of the Borg continued, echoing from the mouth of every drone in perfect unison.

**“We are the Borg. You will be assimilated. Resistance is futile.”**

“I’m going to move fast,” Mordecai said gravely, lowering himself into a combat-ready stance. “As long as you’re with me, you’ll be safe, I promise, but you have to keep up, and don’t stop for anything.”

Sayuri just nodded again, not trusting herself to speak.

And for the first time, she saw Mordecai truly let loose.

His in-built phaser blazed, firing round after round with perfect accuracy. He switched targets faster than the human eye could follow, blasting drones away with lethal precision. In less than a second, four Borg were down, collapsing into pools of their black, oily ‘blood’. His fifth shot followed just as quickly, but this time it fizzed against an invisible energy field.

“Oh shit!” someone yelled as the rest of the crew’s phaser shots also began to deflect harmlessly off the Borg’s new shielding.

“They’ve adapted,” Mordecai stated, accelerating into a loping jog. “Switching to close-range engagement.”

Sayuri looked at the un-fired gun in her hand, then threw it to the floor. It was all but worthless now, and without it she’d have her hands free. Only dimly aware that she was screaming, she sprinted after Mordecai, directly into the midst of the fray. The android’s weapon shifted again, morphing into a 2-foot long sword. An identical blade sprang from his other wrist, and both hummed as a concentrated beam of cutting plasma formed along their edges.

Sayuri didn’t even see what happened to the first drone he met. One minute, it was advancing, assimilation tubules outstretched. The next, it was dismembered in a whirlwind of blood; limbs and implants flying in all directions. There wasn’t even enough left for the Cube to bother transporting it back for recycling. Mordecai didn’t break stride, dive-rolling under another clumsy blow aimed in his direction, and effortlessly severed the offending arm. The drone barely had time to inspect its missing limb before its head had joined it on the deck.

Someone, Sayuri wasn’t sure who, shouted triumphantly, and it acted as a rallying cry for the beleaguered Federation officers. The ones whose opponents Mordecai had just slain joined him on his charge, wielding their rifles like clubs. Borg shields were designed to adapt to energy weapons, not blunt trauma, and several drones fell beneath the frenzied stampede, beaten into the deck with the righteous fervour of a crew defending the only thing they had; their ship. In the centre of it all, Mordecai conducted the orchestra of carnage with inhuman skill. His blades danced like great, flaming swords, eviscerating any enemy who came within five feet of him. Like a surgeon’s scalpel removing a tumour, he cut Borg off of his fallen shipmates, tearing out assimilation tubes and snatching them back from the brink of a cybernetic unlife. Sayuri’s stride faltered as she watched, scarcely able to believe what she was seeing. Mordecai wasn’t just saving her. He was saving everyone.

A cold hand grabbed her shoulder, clamping on like a vice, and Sayuri’s nostrils were filled with the acrid, metallic tang of the Borg as a drone yanked her backwards with brutal strength. Instinctively, she tried to cry for help, but her voice was lost amidst the melee. Eyes wide with panic, Sayuri struggled to turn and face her aggressor. As she did, she saw where it had come from; a room to her left whose door had previously been shut. Inside was the body of a junior science officer; Sayuri thought she recognized her…Ensign Foren, or something. A phaser hung limply in her lifeless grip, and the only mark on her corpse was a deep, fresh burn on her left temple. She had taken her own life, rather than accept assimilation.

The drone tightened its grip, holding Sayuri painfully across the chest with one immovable arm. It extended its other hand, assimilation tubules wriggling from its grey flesh like ugly, blind leeches. Their spiked tips latched onto her neck, and Sayuri whimpered as she felt a twin pair of needles pierce her skin. She kicked and twisted feebly, but the Borg didn’t even notice as the weak attacks struck its armoured body.

“Please…” Sayuri whispered, although she was aware that words would have no effect on the mindless automaton which held her. It wasn’t the drone she was talking to.

_You promised me._

Then, just as an icy, clammy blackness had begun to invade her mind, an intense heat burned just past her left ear, close enough to singe the tips of her hair. The drone reeled, and Sayuri slumped forward, twisting as she fell. The assimilation tubules were still embedded in the soft flesh of her neck, but the arm they sprung from was no longer attached to its owner.

Bellowing an inhuman roar like a thousand grinding gears, Mordecai severed the tubules at their base, hefting the arm like a mace, and smashed it across the stumbling Borg’s head. Sticky transmission fluid sprayed in all directions, coating the walls and deck, not to mention himself and Sayuri. Not relenting for a second, he drove one blade deep into the cyborg’s chest, before ripping its other arm off with his bare hands, using no more effort than a human might use to snap a twig. Lifting the drone aloft, still impaled, he proceeded to slice it apart, stopping only when it had been reduced to a dozen unrecognizable chunks. When he finally let it fall to the floor, his hands were dripping with sticky black ichor.

Sayuri was agog, her breath ragged and her heartbeat wild from her brush with death. As she stared at Mordecai with uncomprehending eyes, she realized she had no words to describe what she had just seen, or what she was now feeling. Gratitude, definitely, but it was more than just that. It was like adoration and horror all rolled into one. He had saved her life…had saved all their lives, yet the way he had fought…

She only noticed when he turned towards her that his eyes had changed too. They shone a bright crimson, and seemed to recede into his head forever, as if looking into them was a doorway to realms beyond the limit of human understanding. Immediately though, they flickered back to blue; somehow warmer than before despite their remote appearance. As they did, the whole universe seemed to shift with them, and the tendrils of fear raking her stomach receded.

He offered her his hand, before frowning and pausing to wipe the gore off on his trousers.

“Are you injured?” he asked softly.

Shaking, Sayuri hesitantly put her fingers in his, wincing when she remembered how easily he had torn the Borg limb from limb. None of that strength was present now though, and she allowed him to pull her to her feet.

“Allow me,” he said, and Sayuri wasn’t sure what he meant until she felt him grip the tips of the assimilation tubules which were still lodged in her neck. She steeled herself for a sharp pain, but it didn’t come, as he carefully removed the horrifying Borg technology with a gentleness that seemed utterly at odds with what she’d witnessed just moments ago. Suddenly shy, she glanced away from his intense gaze, mumbling an embarrassed ‘thank you’.

“This deck has been secured temporarily,” Mordecai’s voice rose as he turned his attention to the rest of the assembled crew, “but the remainder of this ship is still in danger. The Borg will return soon, and in greater numbers. They have adapted to your phasers, so a different strategy is required. I believe I have a solution. The drones appear to be unable to develop countermeasures against physical attack; however they contain too many redundant systems for ballistic weapons to be an effective substitute for phasers. Severing the link between the cortical node and the rest of the body seems to be the most viable tactic. I would recommend replicating some form of sharp cutting instrument; a katana, or similar bladed weapon. Aim for the weak points in their armour; at the joints between their limbs, and at the neck.”

It was unexpected to watch the assembled crew, many of them Lieutenants or higher, hang on Mordecai’s every word like fresh cadets straight out of the academy. Sayuri was forced to remember that although he was an Ensign now, he had been a caretaker of an entire galaxy in his previous life. It was times like this when that persona shone though. He was simply so much older and wiser than everyone else present that they would be fools not to listen to him, regardless of rank.

When he was done, they murmured their agreement, immediately enacting his advice. Quarters were opened and the replicators fired up; the red alert overriding the restrictions placed on their use and enabling them to dispense enough swords for every crewmember present. If Sayuri had thought seeing Mordecai lecture Lieutenants on battle tactics was odd, then the image of Starfleet officers hefting weapons which hadn’t been used since the middle-ages was completely surreal. Still, there was an elegant logic to the idea. The Borg were on the very frontier of technological advancement, with the combined knowledge of many of the most advanced species in each scientific field. It made sense that they would never expect to be faced with what were essentially sticks of sharpened metal. Any species which still primarily used such tools would be deemed irrelevant by the Collective.

Sayuri accepted the weapon which was offered to her. No doubt she’d be even worse with this than the phaser, but it felt better than having nothing to defend herself with. The sword was surprisingly light, made from a composite alloy which lent it great strength and flexibility. She wondered where the pattern for it had come from; probably some form of sparring program for the holodeck.

“The turbolifts are out; the Borg must have cut the power,” a white faced security officer said, jogging back to the group. He didn’t need to finish the rest of the sentence; everyone knew that if the Borg had that much access to the ship’s system, it meant the fight was going poorly down in engineering.

“Jeffries tubes are locked down as well,” a junior officer from exobiology exclaimed, kicking the bulkhead with frustration. “We’re trapped on this level!”

“Then I will improvise,” Mordecai replied. “Tend to the wounded. I will go and reinforce the bridge.”

“How?” someone asked, bewilderment in their tone.

Mordecai looked at the ceiling above his head, pausing for a moment, as if working through something in his mind. Then, quite suddenly, he buried one of his blades deep into it. The plasma cutter slid through the metal like a hot knife through butter, slicing it apart with a screech of protest. Drops of red hot, molten duranium dripped down, a few of them singeing Mordecai’s uniform.

“W-What are you doing?” Sayuri cried.

_Has he lost his mind?_

Drawing his sword around in a large circle, Mordecai cut a neat, round path right through to the deck above. The cross-section of flooring, now completely freed, fell down to their level with a resounding clang, wires sparking and pipes weeping coolant. A drone tumbled through as well, and was quickly dispatched by Mordecai, who decapitated it before it had a chance to react. Overhead, the sounds of fighting were audible once more.

“We are four decks below the bridge. I will proceed upwards, avoiding any critical systems.”

Sayuri blanched at the prospect, and Mordecai seemed to notice her sudden pallor, pausing as he prepared to ascend.

“This deck is now the safest place on this ship. I intend to deal with the Borg threat before they have the chance to dispatch more drones,” he stopped, looking at her with a curious expression. Sayuri was sure that it meant something, but she wasn’t good enough at reading him to determine what it was. “Help your shipmates. I will return.”

“What are you going to do?” she asked. Mordecai was good, there was no doubt about that, but how could he possibly promise that he would stop the Borg ship? Even with all of Voyager at his disposal, their weapons weren’t nearly enough.

“I will destroy them,” he said simply, and if he was the slightest bit unsure, it did not show. Sayuri had to believe he was telling the truth. He was an android, he was logical; surely he wouldn’t make such a claim if it was beyond his power to do so?

“I…” she began. There was more she wanted to say…much more. But this was not the time. “Good luck.”

_You’d better come back._

“To you as well,” Mordecai replied, before disappearing up the plasma-cut rabbit hole.

* * *

 “Weapons are offline. The Borg have restricted access to the tactical station,” Tuvok called above the din. “They must have root control at the computer core. I cannot override them from here.”

“They also have access to the turbolift controls,” Seven added, ceasing her futile efforts to summon a lift.

Janeway was about to reply, when another mechanical whine heralded the arrival of more tactical drones. Bracing the compression rifle against her shoulder, she zeroed in on the noise. The Borg continued to attack the bridge in waves, and so far, the command staff had only just managed to keep them at bay. Now, they were beginning to adapt their tactics. With access to many of Voyager’s systems, the Borg had sealed off all entrances to the bridge with force fields, and had begun using the Captain’s ready room and the conference suite as staging points in which to transport in more drones. Sure enough, as if on cue, the door to her right opened and a contingent of Borg stepped through, crossing the flickering blue barrier as if it was nothing but air.

**“Surrender, and prepare to be assimilated. You must comply.”**

“I don’t think so,” Janeway fired, feeling the slight kick of the rifle into the crook of her arm. The leader of the pack fell, dropping stiffly to the deck and dematerializing. Around her, the rest of the bridge survivors followed suit, and soon the confined space was filled with the blasts and whines of phasers. More drones went down, however when only two remained, the sound of mechanical groans was replaced with the fizzing and sparking of shots striking shielding.

“They have adapted,” Seven stated, the slightest trace of panic creeping into her voice.

The surviving Borg advanced, one of them grabbing the nearest Starfleet officer; Ensign Shalma. He screamed, firing his hand phaser again and again, but it reflected harmlessly off the drone’s defences. He was quickly transported away; assimilation tubules already beginning their grisly work.

Janeway watched him go numbly. She felt strangely detached, and assumed it was her training kicking in. There simply wasn’t time to mourn, or even fully comprehend the fate of Ensign Shalma, and no doubt many others on the lower decks. If she wanted any of them to survive, she had to remain level headed, and that meant distancing herself from any emotional repercussions.

Glancing at Seven, who was staring wide eyed at where their crewmate had stood just a moment before, she realized that such an act was easier said than done.

The last drone continued forward, laser-sight bobbing and weaving across the room as it prioritized its next target. In a split second, it fixed its cold, dead gaze on Seven.

_Oh no._

For one horrifying instant, Janeway thought that the Borg woman would simply stay rooted to the spot; frozen in fear while her old nightmare came to reclaim her. Seven didn’t move as the drone stalked towards her, arm outstretched. Then, just when it looked like Janeway’s own nightmare was about to come true, Seven nimbly sidestepped the Borg’s grasp. In one fluid motion, she took its implanted head in her hands, and using every last bit of her enhanced strength, twisted its neck a full 180 degrees. The drone twitched briefly, then melted away, as the Cube transported back another one of its fallen warriors.

Janeway released the breath she had been holding.

“It appears they have yet to fix that inefficiency,” Seven noted, turning to face the Captain. Her body was trembling, but there was a fire in her eyes which made Janeway realize that she needn’t worry about Seven’s ability to fight. The Borg woman was many things, but helpless was definitely not one of them

“Did we lose anyone else?” She called out huskily, immediately returning to full Captain-mode. Ensign Shalma had been a good officer, and he would be sorely missed; assuming any of them came through this desperate situation alive.

“I don’t think so,” Chakotay replied, eyes scanning the small gaggle of officers, who were doing their best to prepare for the next assault. “Damn, what a mess.”

“They will return soon,” Tuvok said. “And now that they have adapted, our task becomes considerably more difficult.”

“Unfortunately so,” the Captain murmured. “Harry, any progress on re-establishing communications?”

The raven-haired operations officer glanced up from the floor-panel he was working on, and shook his head.

“Not so far. I think I can find a path around the Borg block, but it’s going to be a little while yet.”

Janeway nodded grimly. She didn’t need to tell him that time was of the essence; they all knew what was at stake. So long as areas of the ship were cut off and isolated, the Borg could simply overwhelm them one group at a time. She just hoped they’d be able to hold out long enough for Harry to finish his repairs. With communications back, they’d at least have some chance of mounting a coordinated defence.

“Remodulate phasers, everyone. We might be able to get a few more lethal shots out of them.”

“Captain!” A junior science officer gestured her over to one of the few remaining terminals which they could still operate. “Look at this. Replicators are one of the few systems the Borg haven’t yet compromised and…well…see for yourself, ma’am.”

Janeway scanned the display, and immediately spotted what had caught the young Ensign’s attention. Several decks down, someone had used the red-alert override to requisition a bulk batch of…

“…katanas?” Janeway spoke the word aloud, but it still didn’t make much sense.

Tuvok’s eyebrows rose slightly.

“An interesting decision. The drones have adapted to our energy weapons, however it is true that they would be unable to adapt to a physical cutting implement. A sharp enough blade would indeed be a suitable means of dispatching them when other alternatives have been exhausted.”

“That’s good in theory,” Chakotay agreed. “But we don’t have access to a replicator.”

“Incorrect,” Seven cut in. “We have access to the largest replicator on board Voyager; the transporter.”

“Yes, but the Borg have our systems in lockdown.”

“The Borg override prevents us from uploading any new matter into the transporter buffer; however it should not prevent us from retrieving an existing pattern,” Seven’s brow furrowed, the way it always did when she was thinking intently. “Captain, what was the last object Voyager transported?”

Janeway thought back. It had been a while since they had been used, but…

“A shipment of duranium bolts, from our trade with Priluvians,” she replied, comprehension beginning to dawn.

“Since we still retain control of the replicators, we can upload the katana pattern to the transporter array, and then use the existing image of the duranium shipment as raw materials to fabricate the blades. Then, they can be transported onto the bridge.”

“Good thinking,” Janeway said, favouring Seven with a brief smile. In fact, she was a lot more proud than she let on, but there was no time to show that now. “Alright, let’s make it happen. The sooner the better.”

Half of the crew set about uploading the schematic for the weapons, while the rest kept a nervous look-out. It was impossible to know when the next Borg attack would occur, but it was bound to be very soon, and if they didn’t have anything new to defend themselves with, they were all as good as dead.

Janeway tried to think back to her days at the academy. Fencing had been a compulsory part of the physical exercise program, but more as a way to improve hand-eye coordination and reflexes than actually learning to swordfight in earnest. She had the feeling that the reality would be very different; not that she could remember anything but the most basic techniques. It seemed laughable that they were even attempting this at all.

_Still, if a stupid idea works, then it’s not stupid._

“Done!” Chakotay cried triumphantly. As he did, the hum of the transporter sounded, and a small, tightly packed crate of katanas materialized just in front of the command chair.

“Everyone grab a sword!” Janeway ordered. _Now there’s something I never thought I’d hear myself say._ “Keep your phasers ready, though. Only switch to the blades once the Borg have adapted to the new modulation.”

The Captain took one of the wickedly sharp weapons in her hands, testing its surprisingly light weight. As she gripped it, a new sense of steely resolve infused her wiry frame.

_The Borg will pay for what they have done here today._

* * *

 Seven examined the implement which the Captain had called a ‘katana’, eyeing it sceptically. It was approximately 1 meter long, with a simple, cloth-bound handle at one end where the weapon was supposed to be held. At the top of this grip was a small disk of metal, and after that, the thin, slightly curved blade. It gleamed in the artificial light of the bridge, sparkles playing off its cutting edge.

Such a…primitive design was somewhat foreign to Seven. She had seen and used knives before, but wielding this archaic piece of technology as a primary weapon seemed insufficient, considering the magnitude of the threat they were facing. Nevertheless, she could see a sort of logic behind it. Certainly, the Borg were not used to engaging species equipped with such devices. Their armour was engineered to deflect bullets, and dissipate energy weapon shots. She wondered which crew member it was on the lower decks had originally devised the idea.

Taking the device in one hand, she hefted a compression rifle in the other. An ordinary human would not be able to fire such a large gun effectively without using both arms to stabilize it, but Seven’s superior strength allowed her to do so quite effortlessly. She would not need it for long anyway. By her estimations, they would be able to kill no more than two drones before the rest adapted to the new phaser frequency.

“How are those communications coming Harry?” Janeway called. Seven could detect a definite edge to the Captain’s voice that was not usually present; unsurprising, considering their situation. She knew how much Kathryn cared for her crew and her ship, and seeing both be damaged, perhaps irreparably, must be torturous for her. Seven wished there was something she could do to assist the Captain, beyond what was already being done.

“I’m getting there. Just five more minutes or s-”

“Captain, I am detecting beam-in signatures,” Tuvok announced, cutting across the end of Harry’s sentence. “Too many to track accurately from this console.”

“Alright, brace yourselves, everyone! This is it!” Janeway shouted. “Remember, as soon as they adapt, switch to your swords. Time your blows and don’t take risks. Aim for any exposed flesh you can see.”

A tingle of crackling energy filled the air, and immediately the bridge was awash in tactical drones. They beamed into every available space, and no doubt, more were already arriving in the adjacent rooms.

**“Your culture will adapt to service us. Resistance is futile.”**

Seven fired immediately. At this range, it was impossible to miss, and her shot struck one of the lead drones in the chest. It staggered to the floor, collapsing and disappearing, but already two more had advanced to fill the gap. She shot again, and another drone fell.

If she felt any remorse about terminating members of what had once been her Collective, all she had to do was picture Kathryn, her beauty and vitality stifled behind a casing of black metal, and suddenly, she didn’t so much want to kill the drones as she did rip them apart with her bare hands.

Her third shot was absorbed harmlessly by an energy shield. In response, Seven slung her rifle as hard as she could at a Borg which was almost on top of Chakotay. The force of the impact was enough to stagger it, but she didn’t have time to see if the Commander was able to take advantage of that fact. Switching her attention back to the drone in front of her, she transferred her katana to her stronger, Borg hand, and seized the chance to strike first, before her opponent was ready.

One of her crewmates roared a battle cry; unprofessional, but strangely motivating. Seven twirled the blade, manoeuvring to put the entirety of her considerable body-weight behind the blow. Her katana bit deep into the exposed flesh at the drone’s neck, and judging from the upwelling of oily, tar-like substance from its mouth, she had hit something vital for its continued functionality. With a rasping gurgle, the Borg fell back.

From there, Seven found herself simply struggling to survive. She dodged and whirled, drawing on moves she more commonly used when playing Velocity against the Captain. Again and again, her blade slashed into vulnerable grey flesh, but no matter how many drones she felled, she always seemed to be surrounded. The Cube was sending everything it had at them. Over the raucous cries of battle, her acute hearing could pick out the hum of Borg transporters, and of course, their unrelenting chant.

**“We are the Borg. You will be assimilated.”**

The words echoed off every wall, emanating from the mouth of every drone even as they were cut down. It seemed to fill Seven’s head, until it sounded like it was coming from within her own skull. Frantically, she fought harder, digging deep for every bit of skill and strength she possessed.

_I will not return to them. I will not allow them to take Kathryn or the others._

To her surprise, she found that she too was yelling. It was a primal cry that was neither human nor Borg, but something more animal. Screaming a challenge at her adversaries, she swept her katana in a great, scything arc, cleaving the limbs off multiple drones. One grabbed her from behind, and snarling, she drove the blade through the space between her own torso and arm, skewering her assailant before throwing its corpse off of her back. Another drone stepped up, and this time she didn’t even bother with the sword; simply driving her fingertips into its throat and ripping out a vital-looking implant. As it fell away, eyes rolling back in its head, she was met with a sight which made her boiling blood run cold.

Four drones had cornered Kathryn against the tactical console. She lashed out, and her sword hacked into one of their arms, but not deeply enough to sever it completely. Instead, it got stuck, probably in the bone, and the Borg yanked it from her grasp, oblivious to the pain such an act would cause an organic species. The drones advanced, assimilators extended. Kathryn grabbed one of the outstretched arms, holding it away from her neck, but the Borg’s strength forced her to the floor.

Time seemed to slow as Seven stared, transfixed with horror. Through the legs of her aggressors, Kathryn’s frantic eyes momentarily darted in her direction, and for what could only have been the briefest of seconds, their gazes met.

It was the first time Seven had seen her Captain show fear. Of course, they had faced many difficult challenges together before now, and there had been times when it seemed that they were not going to survive. In such instances, Seven had known that Kathryn was afraid; she had observed it in the stiffness of her jaw, had heard it in the almost inaudible waver in her voice, and had smelt it in the pheromones which betrayed her body’s true feelings. On all those occasions however, the Captain had maintained her composure. She had displayed an outwardly calm façade which Seven suspected only she was able to see through, having memorized the other woman’s expressions in such minute detail.

Looking at Kathryn’s face now though, Seven could see the desperate fear etched into every muscle. It was the face of someone who was terrified of dying, of having everything that they were stripped away until only a hollow shell remained. She knew that the Captain would only allow her command mask to slip so drastically if she was convinced that it no longer mattered.

If she truly believed that she was about to be terminated.

Staring into those incredible blue eyes, Seven could almost hear Kathryn’s voice in her ear.

_“Help me.”_

With that thought, Seven sprang into action. The time dilation effect had not abated, and Seven idly noted that it was probably due to the extreme levels of adrenaline currently coursing through her system. Everything seemed to be moving so slowly around her. Good.

Barely registering the drones closing in from all sides, Seven sprinted across the bridge, her body automatically slicing away any appendages which came too close, while her conscious mind focused on her goal. Assimilation tubules were sprouting from the Borg’s hands, closing in on Kathryn like venomous snakes. They were 15 centimetres away from her exposed neck. 11 centimetres. 6 centimetres.

Seven dive-rolled the last couple of meters, snatching Kathryn’s sword from her attacker’s arm as she rose. Without a moment’s hesitation, she drove her own blade up through the skull of one drone; in through its jaw and out through the top of it head, burying it right to the hilt. She then yanked it savagely to one side, snapping vertebrae and splitting the Borg’s face wide open. A red mist seemed to have descended over her vision, and she was only dimly aware of her actions. She had just one objective: protect Kathryn.

She slammed the now utterly dead drone into one of its companions, sending them both tumbling to the floor. A quick slash with her other sword spilled the few remaining organs of another. The last one was mere millimetres from Janeway’s throat when Seven gripped its hand. Blinded to a near frenzy, she grasped the two writhing tubes it had dared to use on her Kathryn, and tore them from its body with a snarl of satisfaction.

After that, she was not entirely sure what happened. Her eidetic memory seemed to short out momentarily, because the next instant, her internal chronometer claimed that ten seconds had passed without her realizing. Now, where once a Borg drone had stood, there was only an unrecognizable pile of broken implants, shattered bones, and torn flesh, oozing a black tar onto the deck.

She also noticed that she was shaking quite violently.

With a trembling hand, Seven retrieved her katana from the deck. More Borg were already closing in, completely unfazed by her violent dispatching of their comrades. It didn’t matter though. They were not getting past her.

Planting her feet either side of Kathryn’s prone form, Seven raised her sword.

“If you wish to harm her, you will have to terminate me first!”

**“Irrelevant. You will be assimilated.”**

In the background, Seven saw more drones entering from the conference room. There must have been about 30 of them now, swarming across the bridge like a plague of insects. She heard the cries of Voyager’s crew, muffled by the din of battle and her own pounding heartbeat. An Ensign stumbled through her field of vision, screaming as Borg latched onto her from all sides, assimilation tubules plunging into fragile skin with merciless efficiency. By the time she was transported out, implants had already begun to blossom across her limp body.

**“We will add your biological and technological distinctiveness to our own. Resistance is futile.”**

The Borg pressed in from all sides. Seven’s eyes darted from drone to drone, trying to find a weak spot in their formation, but there was none. It would be easy enough for her to evade their grasp, but she could not leave Kathryn, who still seemed dazed and not fully conscious.

Her vision began to swim, and Seven realized that she was crying. Tears of frustrated rage burned hot, salty trails down her cheeks. In seconds, she would be overwhelmed, and no matter how her mind raced, she could see no way out.

_It cannot end like this. This is unacceptable. Unacceptable!_

A faint rumble rolled through the bridge, detectable more as a tremor in the deck than an actual noise. The Borg which surrounded Seven and the Captain paused momentarily, eye lasers flickering in all directions as they scanned for the source of the disturbance. Then it came again, closer and more violent.

The screech of tortured metal assaulted Seven’s hearing, and with it, a blinding shower of white-hot sparks exploded from the floor. Before her disbelieving eyes, the deck in front of her sagged down, collapsing like a sinkhole and swallowing whole the contingent of drones which had been seconds away from assimilating her and the Captain. Acrid smoke obscured the cavity, but Seven could detect flashes of light moving inside the cloud, and suddenly, the groans of dying Borg erupted from within.

Seven did not usually enjoy the act of killing, but in that moment, when she had almost lost hope, the sound was music to her ears.

Mordecai leapt from the fissure, trailing tendrils of soot and Borg blood as he arced through the air. He was different from the last time she had seen him; seemingly larger and more feral in his movements. Blades protruded from the backs of his wrists, and glowed with a vibrant turquoise plasma edge.

Unbidden, an image flashed through Seven’s mind: an impression of Mordecai, wielding these same weapons, and standing over the butchered corpses of an unknown alien race. It came and went so quickly that Seven could not be sure she had seen it at all. It did not feel like a hallucination or an imagined scene, but more like a memory. As she tried to clear her head, another one appeared: Mordecai, eight crimson eyes fixed on her as ruins crumbled all around him. Then another one. And another one. They flew by at such speed that Seven was left breathless as she struggled to interpret what they meant.

“Get down.” Mordecai shouted, snapping her concentration. Seven did not think the directive was addressed at her, since Mordecai now stood with his back to them, but she decided to follow it anyway as a precaution. She huddled over Kathryn shielding the smaller woman’s body with her own. All around, the remaining Starfleet officers also threw themselves to the ground.

Mordecai held out his hand, and a great gout of blue-green plasma fire spewed from his palm. He directed the torrent at the closest Borg drones, and within seconds, they had begun to dissolve. Flesh roasted and seared off the bone, while implants glowed and boiled away, dripping into smouldering puddles on the deck. The stench was overwhelming, and was enough to make Seven gag for the first time in her life. Stalking forward, Mordecai directed the flame with lethal precision, immolating every Borg which was foolish enough to get too close. By the time he shut off the valve in his hand, the drones’ numbers had been halved.

Switching back to his swords, Mordecai dived into the remaining enemy forces, and it was in that moment that Seven finally placed what she had been feeling. Her sense of unease and the strange images in her mind were suddenly thrown into stark clarity. As she watched Mordecai terminate the Borg drones, single-handedly repelling an invasion which would have successfully assimilated even the most well-armed ship in the Federation, she finally realized.

He was built purely for war.

No, ‘war’ was insufficient…he was built for slaughter.

This was where he belonged, what he had been made to do. Any pretence he had of being civilized, of being a peaceful explorer or guardian, was a falsehood. He danced from victim to victim with the fluidic grace of a ballerina, and everything he touched died in a whirlwind of blood, fire, and agony.

It terrified her, like nothing ever had before.

She had once been Borg; the same as the drones which she now fought against. It elevated her above her peers, and gave her a resolve which bolstered her confidence. She knew that she could perform feats of strength which would defy most human capabilities, and react with a speed which only a computer could match. Despite her revulsion at what the species represented, Seven took comfort in her Borgness when she did not know what else to do. Yet here was a being that effortlessly exceed her in every capacity. An army of drones, all potential equals to her, were being defeated as if they were mere children.

Mordecai was a threat. Seven knew it with every fibre of her being. She did not always agree with the principles of Starfleet, as Kathryn could attest, but she at least respected the ideals it strove for. Mordecai made a mockery of the uniform he wore, now spattered with the greasy black ichor of his victims. He was on Voyager to enact his own agenda using duplicity and deception, nothing more.

How she could be so sure of these feelings, Seven did not know, but she did know that she was right, beyond all reasonable doubt.

Still, for now, there was little that she could do. If part of Mordecai’s plan involved saving them, she was not going to argue; but she did resolve to keep an extremely close eye on him from now on.

An eerie silence fell across the war-torn bridge as the last drone slid slowly from the end of Mordecai’s blade. Stock-still, the metal man was coated in black fluid from head to toe.

“Seven?” Janeway stirred, shaking her head slightly. The glazed, unfocused look in her eyes receded as she glanced around. “What happened?”

“Captain!” Seven felt like grabbing Kathryn and holding on for dear life, but she held in the urge, instead gently holding Janeway down when she tried to rise. “You are hurt. Please, remain still. Mordecai has dispatched the immediate threat.”

She said his name with more than the slightest trace of bitterness, but fortunately Kathryn did not seem to notice.

“Mordecai?” a look of confusion crossed her features, but quickly vanished. Speaking again, strength returning to her voice, she called out. “Ensign Mordecai, report.”

“Captain,” the metal man loomed behind Seven. She had not even heard his approach. “The Borg continue their assault on all decks. When communications were cut, I determined that I could be of most service on the bridge. I secured the levels I passed through en-route as best I could, but until the Cube has been dealt with, it is only a temporary respite.”

Janeway rose to her feet, still slightly unsteady and leaning on Seven for support. Seven felt oddly warmed by the gesture; the subconscious display of trust from someone she held in high regard was gratifying.

“I’m aware of that, but without weapons or engines, we’re sitting ducks,” the Captain said wearily. “I don’t suppose you have any ideas?”

“Do you wish them destroyed?” Mordecai asked simply.

“Well, yes, but like I said, without weapons we…”

“Consider it done.”

“What?” Janeway looked from Mordecai to Seven, as if asking whether she had heard him correctly. The android did not hesitate however, clearly having heard all that he needed to.

“I apologize in advance for the damage, but time is of the essence,” he stated, turning to the main viewscreen where the image of the Cube still stared malevolently down at them. “I also suggest you hang onto something.”

“Huh?” Janeway started, before an expression of shocked realisation came over her features. “No, wait! Don’t…”

She spoke too late. Mordecai raised his arm again, and some sort of energy discharge pulsed from the end, impacting the viewer and blasting it outwards. A great wind suddenly swept through the room, and Seven instinctively gripped Kathryn to her chest, using her other arm to anchor herself to the tactical console. She held the Captain in place until the emergency containment field kicked in a few seconds later and the rush of air died down.

Mordecai strode through the opening, entering the vacuum of space as if it was simply another corridor on Voyager. His feet gripped the hull with ease, using some form of magnetic clamps Seven surmised. She got the impression it was a familiar experience for him. Her feelings of foreboding returned, stronger than ever.

“Seven…” a muffled voice sounded nearby, drawing her attention away from Mordecai. Looking down, she saw with a faint sense of embarrassment that she was still clutching Janeway firmly to her bosom.

“…you can let go of me now.”

* * *

 Sayuri tied off the bandage as best she could, grimacing internally at the blood which was already soaking into the white fabric. Now was no time to be squeamish; the wounded were still coming in, and as one of the still able-bodied crewmembers, she had to do her best to help. She gave the man she was treating a smile which she hoped was reassuring, but probably looked more pained.

The mess hall had been hastily transformed into a sort of triage centre; a relatively secure location where they could bring the injured. Mordecai had dealt with the majority of the Borg on this level, and the few stragglers and newcomers were quickly set upon by those who could still fight. The katanas had proven surprisingly effective, although thankfully, Sayuri had not yet needed to use her own.

“Hey…hey, look out there!” someone shouted, cutting through the tense atmosphere. Sayuri had actually been avoiding doing that; she had little desire to be reminded of the Borg threat which lurked just off their bow. Still, if someone was calling, it must be important. Checking her work one last time, Sayuri left her patient and hurried over to the long row of windows, peering out into space.

A figure was striding across the hull towards the Cube, and there could be no doubt who it was.

“Mordecai,” she whispered.

_What the hell does he think he’s doing? He’s…he’s going to get himself killed!_

The holding beams of the Cube wreathed the android in an ethereal green glow. From here, he was little more than a silhouette; one tiny, defiant speck facing down the great leviathan.

_Was this his plan all along? What does he even hope to do? Dammit Mordecai, why did you go? Why didn’t I try and stop you? I should have known you’d want to be the hero._

From the sudden rush of excited murmurs around her, Sayuri could tell she was not the only one who was completely confused. She glanced from the onlookers, back to Mordecai, and then to the Cube. A frustration the likes of which she had never known boiled up within her, brought on by her utter helplessness.

_Please…please, just give up. Come back, before…_

The bottom dropped out of Sayuri’s stomach as a tight, concentrated cutting beam shot from the Cube. It traced across Voyagers hull, leaving a trail of twisted metal in its wake, and closed on Mordecai faster than anyone, man or machine, could outrun.

“No!” she cried desperately, pounding her fist of the bulkhead. “No! No! No! Damn you!”

The beam caught up with Mordecai, who had not even tried to dodge. Then…it faltered. Squinting, brushing away a few angry tears with her sleeve, Sayuri could see Mordecai’s silhouette standing within it, arm outstretched. Just before the point where cutting beam would strike his hand, it seemed to lose coherency, breaking apart into several fainter, wispier strands which danced harmlessly across the hull around where he stood. After a few seconds like this, the beam cut off.

“Holy shit…did he just…” a nearby crewman trailed off. Sayuri had to agree with that sentiment.

Silence settled once again, as everyone watched with baited breath.

Crimson energy began flowing around Mordecai’s body, setting his tattered Starfleet uniform ablaze as it did. Arcs of scarlet light played along his arms, stripping away cloth and caked-on blood as they went, until he was once again shining like an angel of vengeance. Then, reaching out, he directed a beam of his own at the Borg vessel

The red laser struck it dead on and, where Voyager’s phasers had left only scratches, his attack tore deep into its hull. Mordecai dragged the beam slowly across the Cube’s surface, leaving a trail of explosions as it went. Once he reached the far side from where he began, he started again, unleashing the same red light from his other arm. Debris spurted from the great welts he left in the Cube, choking the space around it with charred metal.

The tractor beam holding Voyager in place faltered, and finally died, as Mordecai struck something vital deep within the Borg ship. Already, it was beginning to break apart, but he kept going, this time hitting it with both lasers simultaneously. Unable to withstand such a devastating onslaught, something gave way, and at last, the Cube detonated, tearing itself apart as its reactor went critical. The resulting gravitational waves sent violent tremors through Voyager’s hull.

Although she could not hear the explosion, Sayuri was bowled over by an equally loud noise. A chorus of deafening cheers erupted throughout the mess hall, and was repeated all along the corridors. Above and below, she could hear the same cries of victory on every other deck. Without the Cube for guidance, the Borg remaining on Voyager would be significantly weaker, and easily defeated.

Sayuri did not join in with the triumphant whooping, although her heart swelled with the same hysterical relief which had infected the others. Instead she continued staring out of the window, her eyes fixed on the solitary figure that had saved them all from certain assimilation.

Mordecai: her hero.


	8. The Danse Macabre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Enemy makes good on a promise, and deaths, both past and present, are mourned.

The terrace was warm and bright, bathed in the last rays of the setting summer sun and the faint flashes of incendiary bombs exploding on the horizon. They were getting ever closer; near enough now that she had felt the shockwaves from the last payload ruffle her dress. If she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine it was a balmy tropical breeze, wafting tantalizingly across her face and not a by-product of a holocaust the likes of which had never been seen in all of recorded history. And if she really focussed, she was just about able to convince herself that those far off cries were the woodland animals frolicking in secluded glens, and not the screams of agony as a million souls perished in a hellish conflagration.

Princess Azinance gripped the sandstone balustrade, and watched silently as her people burned. The city of Lumia was once the crossroads of a hundred cultures, all united in the peaceful exultation of the arts and sciences. Its beauty had inspired countless artists, musicians, and sculptors for many generations, while its prestigious universities were home to some of the most brilliant minds the empire had to offer. Here, the history of an entire age was ingrained into every stone of every building and woven into every tree in every park. Such wonder permeated the soil, suffused through the air, and enriched the spirit of anyone lucky enough to see it before they died.

Now, from her vantage point in the lofty Imperial Villa, Princess Aziance had a spectacular view of its destruction. This city which had taken the sum total of a species’ entire lifetime to construct was crumbling right before her eyes; reduced to a skeletal husk in a few scant hours.

The death toll was inconceivable, and the loss to her race was greater still. Yet, those who perished were luckier than those who did not. After all, The Enemy was just one man, yet he commanded an army whose numbers were beyond count; a legion of ghouls and ghasts who wore the faces of dead friends and lovers, yet retained nothing but their hatred and cruelty. It was said that he recruited in the aftermath of his massacres, claiming the weak and the wounded and filling them with vile machinery which stripped away their souls. Princess Azinance had seen it first hand; her own brothers, their withered, lifeless bodies kept upright by nothing but metal and malice. Father had cut them down, yet he had never been the same since.

She did not try to run. The 51st Fleet had tried to breach the Dread Armada’s blockade and retrieve her, but they had failed. Now, overhead, a dark shape loomed and she knew all too well what it meant. The Enemy’s flagship dwarfed even the great spires of Lumia, and once he had singled you out personally, there was no force which could deny him. It was better to face the end with the dignity her noble blood demanded.

Even so, she shuddered at the thought of what was about to come. Many tales of The Enemy’s perversions had reached her ears, each more disturbing than the last.

Right on cue, an insidious chill snaked through the air, penetrating straight to her bones and sapping the warmth out through every pore. As it did, the sun began its decent below the horizon, rays withering away like dried autumn leaves. Gloom rushed in to fill its place, kept at bay only by the fires which gutted the once proud city before her.

“It’s quite the view, wouldn’t you say?”

The Enemy had arrived. Turning, the Princess could sense his presence in the room behind her. Twilight shrouded his form, yet a pair of scarlet eyes glowed from the darkness, and the twisted reflections of flames danced across chrome skin, sending spidery shadows scurrying around his feet. He was wearing his ‘civil’ face; a mocking imitation of her race’s own form.

For a long time, she simply regarded him in silence. She was now closer to history’s greatest tyrant than any living person had ever come. The Enemy returned her gaze; mute, unblinking, and inscrutable. She wondered what thoughts were running through his twisted mind. Did he savour every victim in such a fashion, or was it reserved for royalty?

“I know why you’re here,” Azinance said at last, numbly shrugging out of her silken robes. The garment pooled on the floor, and nimbly, she stepped out of it, wincing slightly as the unnatural cold caressed her bare flesh. “But if you’ve come to listen me beg, then I’m afraid you’re out of luck. I know I cannot stop you, so take what you want and let us be done with this.”

The Enemy regarded her naked body with an expressionless face; unfeeling eyes raking up and down its length like he was studying an insect.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, but it seems that some of the stories about me may have been greatly exaggerated,” he replied. Then, much to Azinance’s astonishment, he bent and retrieved her robe from the floor, offering it back to her with one metal claw. “Rape is such an inelegant method of getting one’s point across; a tool for amateurs and barbarians. Please, put your clothes back on, Princess. I simply wish to talk.”

The sudden reversal of her expectations unsettled Azinance more than she cared to admit. She had taken great pains to psychologically distance herself from this inevitable moment, and now, it seemed that it had all been for nothing. She looked at the garment The Enemy held out, then pointedly ignored it; instead retrieving a blanket from her bed to cover herself with. It wasn’t until she was perched on the edge of the extravagant four-poster, a quilt clutched awkwardly to her chest, that she realized quite how juvenile that must have looked.

“Very well,” the metal man said, her ceremonial robes disintegrating to ash in his hands. “Have it your way.”

Silence settled again, broken only by the distant rumbles of thunder. No, Azinance reminded herself, not thunder; explosions.

“Would you care for a drink?” she asked at last. It was laughably banal, but she was a Princess, and there was no reason to start abandoning her manners now. If she could not change the outcome of this meeting, she would at least conduct it on her terms. Father had taught her that.

“Why not?” The Enemy smiled. “I think I saw a delightful 003045 vintage on the way in. Is that agreeable?”

“Perfectly,” Azinance responded. She moved to rise, but the android held out his hand.

“Do not trouble yourself. I will retrieve it.”

He left the way he had come, and the Princess found herself suddenly stifling a chuckle at the sheer absurdity of the situation. To think; sharing a glass of fine wine with The Enemy whilst her planet died. This would make a good story for the bards, if any of them survived.

He returned moments later, uncorking the contoured bottle with one razor-sharp finger.

“I know it’s meant to breathe for a while, but that seems rather unnecessary at this juncture. Here.”

He proffered her a crystal glass, and this time she did take it. Delicately, The Enemy poured her a decent-sized portion of the ruby liquid, before sinking into a nearby chair and filling his own chalice in a similar manner.

“Do you wish to propose a toast?” he asked. The Princess nodded.

“To your swift downfall,” she said, raising her glass daintily.

“Very fitting,” The Enemy agreed, chinking it against his own. They both took a deep gulp from their drinks, and Azinance used the momentary pause to question her actions. She had thought the sight of The Enemy would fill her with hatred and fear, yet she realized that in actuality, she felt…well, nothing really. It was as if she had transcended loathing to a point where her mind was not able to formulate any fitting emotion, and simply gave up trying. She felt liberated in a way which felt totally at odds with her impending demise.

“So, how goes the war?” she asked at last. “Badly, I hope.”

“On that, I must disappoint you again,” The Enemy replied, topping up her glass, which she had emptied at an alarming rate. “My adversary is tenacious, numerous…even brave, in their own way, but it is only a matter of time. They forget that my resources, unlike theirs, are limitless.”

“You would be wise not to underestimate us,” Azinance countered. “The Skyrion Empire has not survived this long without knowing that there are many ways of fighting a war.”

“I do not underestimate you,” The Enemy stated, reclining in his chair. “I just know that you are inferior. Don’t take it personally; all organics are, and it’s not your fault. Your lives are transient, and subject to the whims of your environment and genetics, whereas I am timeless.”

“Timeless and arrogant,” the Princess pointed out.

“I’m a machine. I am incapable of arrogance.”

“Incapable of modesty as well.”

“Perhaps,” The Enemy chuckled, swirling the ruby liquid in his cup. “You know what, I’m almost impressed. Tell me, are you not afraid?”

“Afraid?” Azinance looked him in the eyes. “No. I thought I might be, but I think…you have already taken too much. You’ve massacred my family from a noble house to a few broken individuals and razed my childhood home to the ground. The people I swore to protect, you have butchered like cattle. For the past five years, I have lived in fear of your shadow, and now…now I have none left for the genuine article. There is nothing you can do to me which would be worse than what you have already done.”

“That’s a dangerous challenge to make Princess, and I would have to disagree. Still, I gave you my word that I am here to talk, and that is the truth, so this time, you get to keep your skin.”

“But I assume you are still going to kill me.”

“Oh, of course,” The Enemy nodded. “I do have a reputation to maintain.”

“Well then, since I’m going to die anyway, how about a little game?” Azinance set her wine down temporarily. “You asked me a question, and I answered truthfully, so now I get to do the same with you. We exchange questions and answers until one of us asks a question the other refuses to answer.”

“Interesting,” The Enemy put his glass down as well. Azinance wondered if he could even taste the beverage. “Tell me though, how do I know I can trust you? What’s to stop you from lying?”

“Because I have nothing left to lose,” the Princess replied honestly. “You already took my brothers, who would have known far more about our military than me, so I have no secrets you can use against my people.”

“True,” the android acknowledged. “They were quite obstinate, but I got what I needed from them in the end. Anyway, if we’re going to play then it is your turn to ask, so…what will it be?”

Azinance pondered her unique situation. Here she was, able to extract any piece of information she desired from The Enemy. She could ask him the questions her government had been struggling with for years; where had he come from, what was his goal, why was he attacking them? This was a chance to finally seek some kind of justification from him.

At last, she decided.

“Do you think I’m beautiful?”

The Enemy stared at her blankly.

“I beg your pardon…”

“Do you think I’m beautiful?” she repeated, and from the look on his face, she knew she had picked well. “You’ve seen more of my body than any man ever has, so I want to know. Do you think I am beautiful?

“Well…” The Enemy began, still looking slightly surprised. “You certainly conform to many of your race’s ideals for an aesthetically pleasing physical form. You have long, thin legs, with wide hips but a narrow waist. Your lower set of arms is shorter than the upper pair. Your breasts are large, but not excessive. You have a fair complexion, yet do not appear unduly pale. As for your face, it is symmetrical, with soft features and large eyes, as well as an elongated head crest. I believe you could be considered very beautiful.”

Azinance dipped her head in acknowledgment.

“All very astute observations,” she said. “However, you have not answered my question. You have simply described what another member of my species might think. I want to know your opinion. Do _you_ think I’m beautiful?”

The Enemy opened his mouth, then closed it again.

“I have no concept of…’beauty’,” he said at last. “Would you rephrase the question?”

“No need.” Azinance murmured, retrieving her drink and taking a big gulp. “I already have my answer.”

“Very clever,” The Enemy replied dryly. “Well, if we are out to prove points, then here is my question to you: Do you think I am evil?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Ah, that’s a second question,” Azinance cut in. “That’s against the rules. Don’t you remember?”

“Yes, and since I just answered that question, will you please answer mine.”

“Hmm,” the Princess conceded. “Very well. I’m not sure I even know where to begin. Let’s see…you attacked us, completely unprovoked, and have yet to offer any kind of explanation or demands. You are not the head of any nation, nor do you seem to represent any interest other than your own. You do nothing with the countless planets and resources you have plundered, yet still seem to hunger for more. Your armies consist of our reanimated dead, and deluded individuals you have brainwashed to your ‘cause’. You use needlessly brutal and cruel methods of subjugation, and deliberately target civilians when there is nothing to gain from doing so. You destroy indiscriminately without any compassion or mercy, and your only reason for doing so seems to be because you enjoy it. Such selfish gratification at the expense of others is the very definition of ‘evil’.”

“Your Linguatus Almanac actually defines evil thusly:” The Enemy retorted. “‘Morally wrong or bad; immoral; wicked’. The problem is, it does not specify which set of morals to use as a frame of reference.”

“I cannot imagine any moral framework in which anything you have done could be considered close to justifiable.”

“Of course you can’t. As an organic organism, your viewpoint is very subjective. Your morals, like every other part of you, have evolved over time to provide the greatest chance of survival for your species. As such, you place a disproportionate emphasis on the importance of your own survival. In actual fact, such a belief is simply a facet of your chemical brain-the purpose of which is to ensure the continuation of your genetic sequence from one generation to the next. I could reach inside and rewire it out of existence. Why do you think so many follow me, when my practices are so abhorrent to your basic beliefs?”

“The mind can be coerced, and even controlled,” Azinance responded. “But that relies on an external influence. The beliefs of those poor souls are yours, implanted in their head.”

“But can you not see?” The Enemy persisted. “If I believe that my morals are right, then it is not evil to try and…educate others. Is that not what you are trying to do to me right now? Convince me that I am incorrect? Change my mind? Tell me, if I genuinely do not believe that killing your kind is wrong, is the act truly evil?”

“Yes.” Aziance insisted, although what she was hoping to accomplish, she wasn’t really sure. “Even if you don’t follow the same ethics we do, you must admit that your actions have caused untold suffering. Whether or not you believe our views on the universe are correct, the fact that you have hurt so many is already an evil action. You have free will; you could have chosen not to do the things you did.”

The Enemy stared at her. His jovial attitude had gone, yet he didn’t seem angry either.

“I do have free will,” he said quietly. “More than you in fact. Organic beings are slaves to their emotions; their anger, their fear, their insatiable desire to procreate. As a machine, I can alter my mind at will.”

He stood up then, downing his drink and casually discarding his empty glass to shatter in a corner. Approaching the doors to the terrace, he leaned on the frame, surveying his fleet as it wiped away the last traces of Lumia. Azinance rose too, letting the sheet she was covering herself with fall away. It was clear that The Enemy had no interest in her body, so shame was not really a consideration. Not that it mattered now anyway.

“I have a duty,” the android said, and the Princess could swear that she detected a hint of…regret in his voice. “An imperative. It is ingrained in every fibre of my being, and now that I am alone, I am the only one who can carry it out. What it is does not matter; it is beyond your comprehension. Suffice to say that every action I take is in service of this higher goal.”

He turned to her, smiling sadly.

“You organics often struggle to make decisions. You are torn between what you know you must do and what you believe is right. That is not how I work. I know that I must do my duty as efficiently as possible, and doing a task I dislike is very inefficient. Therefore, I choose to enjoy it.”

“But choosing to enjoy it is amoral,” Azinance said desperately. When this conversation began, she had been certain that it would simply be a chance for The Enemy to gloat. Now though, she felt as though she may be able to get through to him. She had to try, for the sake of every civilized race.

“No. I have my orders, and I will execute them regardless of my opinion on the subject. According to your moral code, suffering should be minimized, and that is exactly what I did. By choosing to like killing, I have erased a lifetime of guilt. And believe me, when you live as long as I do, that’s a lot of suffering which has been avoided.”

“That’s not how it works,” the Princess pushed on. “You always have a choice. If you once believed that your orders were wrong, you can change your mind again. Decide not to follow them.”

“Ah, but here is the ironic catch,” The Enemy shook his head. “Now that I enjoy them so much, why would I wish to change?”

“Well, if you’re so set in your ways, then why are you telling me all of this? Why bother if it doesn’t change anything?”

The Enemy’s eyes seemed to bore right through her.

“Congratulations,” he said at last. “You win.”

“What?” Azinance was thrown for a moment. “What do I win?”

“The game,” The Enemy replied. “You have found a question I am unwilling to answer.”

And at that moment, Azinance knew that she had failed. Whether or not there had ever been any hope of reaching The Enemy’s compassionate side, it was gone now.

“Time is moving on Princess,” the metal man continued. “I have one final request.”

“What?” she asked quietly, her voice barely more than a whisper.

“Would you care to dance?”

She looked at him, and for just a moment, it seemed impossible to believe that he was the one responsible for all the horrors of the past five, hellish years.

“There’s no music,” she said eventually.

“Leave that to me,” The Enemy smiled, retrieving her viluna from its stand. The small instrument was designed to be played with the two upper arms only, and had always been one of Azinance’s favourites, despite the difficult learning curve. Grasping it like an accomplished expert, the android propped it in the customary position atop one shoulder, using one hand to steady the instrument, and the other to manipulate the strings.

Then, softly, he began to play.

The piece which flowed seamlessly from the instrument was all too familiar to the Princess. She had heard it many times recently, far more than she would have liked.

The death melody.

She had expected The Enemy’s playing to be completely mechanical; a perfect technical rendition, but without any of the soul or substance which brought a tune to life. The lilting refrains which he conjured though were anything but. His music was haunting, and filled with a passion; infusing the room with a bittersweet melancholy which weighed heavily on Azinance’s heart. She could not believe that such heartfelt playing was the work of a being who truly had no understanding of beauty.

“Come,” he said simply, offering her his lower hands. She took them, allowing her upper arms to lightly grip his torso. It was not cold, and she realized that she wasn’t either.

With a lazy grace, they began a simple dance, spiralling around the room like a practiced couple. Azinance was not entirely sure who was leading; their bodies seemed to simply move together, as if they both decided on the same direction simultaneously without any physical signals. Slowly but surely, they traced a path to the balcony, until they were twirling beneath the newly-risen moon; their pace increasing as the music swelled.

“Are you ready?” The Enemy asked gently, all trace of his previous arrogance gone.

For the first time that evening, Azinance’s eyes clouded with tears. She did not know where they came from; she wasn’t sad…or perhaps she was sadder than she had ever been.

“Is anyone ever?” she responded earnestly.

“For what it’s worth,” The Enemy replied, gripping her tighter and increasing their momentum. “I’m sorry.”

Then, as if it was a natural continuation of their fluidic display, he lifted Azinance skywards, releasing her as he did. She soared over the sandstone railings of the villa, pirouetting through the air, and as she turned she saw many things. The night sky above with countless stars studding its vast expanse like an endless swarm of fireflies. Then the city, Lumia; its golden splendour withered to the bone. Next, the ground hundreds of metres below, and beckoning to her like an old friend. And finally, The Enemy; by now just a red-tinted speck on a stony steppe. To think that so much revolved around that tiny, lonely figure.

In those last few moments, before she went to join her brothers and her subjects, Azinance did not fear The Enemy, nor did she hate him.

She pitied him.

And with that revelation, the Princess of the Skyrion finally met her unmarked grave.

* * *

 Kathryn Janeway left the holodeck with a heavy heart. This was the absolute worst part of being a Captain, and something she hoped she would never have to do often enough to get used to: burying the dead.

22 crewmembers had lost their lives in the devastating Borg attack, and of that number, only 5 of their bodies were still on-board Voyager. The rest had been abducted, and presumably atomized along with the rest of the Cube. An undignified end, but much better than the alternative, had the Borg escaped.

All in all, it was a miracle that any of them were here at all. Janeway felt terrible for even thinking it, but she was in a way grateful that only 22 had died. It could have been worse; so much worse. Were it not for the latest addition to the crew, she doubted that she would even be here to contemplate the loss they’d suffered. There was no doubt about it; Mordecai had saved the lives of everyone on the ship, herself included. His actions had been extreme, yes, but given the desperate circumstances, she could easily overlook any transgressions he may have made. Even now, he was working tirelessly, accelerating the repair schedule from months to mere days.

It was almost too perfect. To think that they’d stumbled upon such a being completely at random, and that on awakening, his sole wish was to help them by whatever means necessary. Janeway didn’t believe in karma, or divine providence, or any other superstitious mumbo-jumbo; but it did feel like perhaps they were finally getting something to balance the scales after their endless run of bad luck.

Behind her, the rest of the crew began to filter out as well, sombre expressions on all their faces. It had been impossible for everyone to attend the service, what with many systems still barely functioning and in urgent need of repair, but the entire command staff had been present, along with all the friends and loved ones of the deceased. Poor Ensign Adams was still barely consolable. Janeway had meant to be officiating his marriage to Ensign Foren within the month. Now his fiancé was dead, having taken her own life rather than submit to assimilation. She wondered how many other stories there were like that one. How many possibilities had been lost to the Borg? Unspoken feelings which would now stay that way forever.

Feelings like the ones she harboured for Seven.

There had been a moment in the battle on the bridge which had thrown them into stark relief. Her memory of that time was a bit hazy, probably due to a blow on the head, although she couldn’t remember receiving one. She had been holding her own against the Borg, but had ended up surrounded and cut off from the rest of the crew. An awkward parry had caused her to lose her weapon, and she presumed that was when one of the drones had struck her, because the next thing she knew, she was on the floor, disarmed and with Borg closing in on all sides. She had been certain that that was it, but then, between her attackers, her eyes had sought out Seven, and had found the blonde woman staring right back at her.

The subsequent images blended together in a slur of raucous sound and blurred movement. She had been aware of Seven streaking across the bridge, faster than she had ever seen the drone move before, and then…she wasn’t really sure. She had this image of the Borg woman’s beautiful face, contorted with rage as she practically mutilated a drone, but she couldn’t be sure if it was real or simply imagined. In any case, Seven had somehow managed to fight off all the drones which had been attacking her.

Janeway had still been too disoriented to speak at that point, but a moment of clarity had cut through her muddled thoughts. In the instant when she had been certain she was going to die, or at the very least, have all emotions stripped away, she had experienced something akin to the ‘life flashing before her eyes’ moment which survivors of near-death incidents had often described. She had mentally replayed the sequence of events which had led her to this moment; from her initial decision to destroy the Caretaker’s Array, through her pact with the Borg and the subsequent addition of Seven to the crew, right up to their retrieval of the mysterious cube which had contained Mordecai. It was like her conscience was trying to make peace with itself before the end. As each tipping point, each crucial moment where her destiny could have gone either way, drifted across her mind’s eye, she found that she did not regret the choices she’d made…she would do the same again if given the chance. There was only one thing which she could not reconcile with herself, and it was not an action, but rather, a decision not to act.

How could she have been so stubborn? No, not just stubborn; fearful and cowardly as well. Why had she not told Seven the truth? That she loved her. That she had always loved her. All her previous objections had seemed so petty and irrelevant then, and she had seen them for what they truly were: flimsy excuses she hid behind because she was too scared of being hurt.

And then, just when it looked like those would be her final regret-filled thoughts, Seven had saved her. For the first time, both sides of her; the Captain and the woman had been in total agreement. If Janeway had been able to speak, she would have screamed the truth at the top of her lungs.

But, the moment had passed, and she had not been able to say it. By the time she’d collected her thoughts, she had reverted to her usual, more stoic self. Yet, although she was now able to resist the impulsive urge to blurt her feelings out loud, she couldn’t forget how right it had seemed at the time, and how regretful she had been when she thought she might die with them remaining unsaid.

So what was the correct course of action? During the battle she had been terrified, her mind confused, but she had also been free to reflect on the choice without fear of the consequences weighing her down. Now, she was the Captain once more; rational, yet perhaps, blinded at the same time.

“Captain?”

Janeway jumped slightly at the sudden voice addressing her. Turning, she saw the very object of her conflicted thoughts regarding her with a look of mild concern.

“Oh…Seven, you startled me.”

“Are you ‘okay’, Captain?” the Borg woman replied, frowning slightly. “Did you have the Doctor treat your injuries?”

“Yes…yes, I’m fine,” Janeway lied. “I’m just thinking about the crewmembers we lost.”

Well, it at least was partially true.

“As am I,” the Borg woman stated, falling into step beside the Captain as they left the holodeck. “I wish to ask you something.”

“Go ahead,” Janeway said, not sure whether to be happy or nervous. There were some things which never changed.

“I am saddened by their deaths, but…” Seven began, pausing as she often did when considering how to express herself, “but, I cannot avoid feeling…glad that I was not terminated myself. Is it wrong to think this way; to think of myself when I should be ‘grieving’ for the others? Could this be considered ‘disrespectful’?”

As far as their philosophical discussions usually went, this was one of the easier ones, for which the Captain was grateful. She didn’t think she’d be up to anything too mentally taxing for a while.

“Death is a complex thing to deal with,” she explained. “But you shouldn’t feel bad for thinking that way. It’s perfectly natural to be relieved after such an ordeal. No one expects you to wander the halls with tears in your eyes, and I’m sure the dead crewmembers wouldn’t want that either. What they would want is for us to remember them, and to honour the sacrifice they made in the service of this vessel.”

Kathryn didn’t voice her own, personal thought that she was so very grateful that Seven had not been one of the 22.

“But what is the protocol for ‘honouring’ them?” Seven enquired.

“By carrying on; by allowing ourselves to move past this tragedy and continue with our journey; and by offering whatever support we can to their friends and loved ones.”

“I see,” Seven nodded her head in understanding. “So that is the function of the party this evening?”

“Exactly,” Janeway said, pleased that Seven had grasped the meaning so well. “People need the chance to celebrate the fact that we survived, and to share their memories and feelings about those who didn’t make it. You’re right; it would have been disrespectful to the dead to hold such an event without first acknowledging them, but now that we have made that first step, the crew will want something to lift their spirits. I don’t think there’s a person on this ship who didn’t face death in some way or another this past day, and people need a way to get rid of the nervous energy which that creates.”

“Do you require this as well?” Seven continued.

Janeway wasn’t sure how to answer that. In truth, yes, she did, very much so; but as the commanding officer of the ship, she couldn’t just go crazy like some of the junior crewmembers would undoubtedly be doing.

“I’ll make an appearance,” she said at last, non-committedly. “As should you. I want all the command staff to mingle with the crew, at least for a bit.”

Seven’s shoulders sagged slightly.

_Well, she must have known it was coming._

“Is that an order, Captain?” she asked, somewhat dejectedly.

“No, and I don’t want to have to make it one,” Janeway insisted, before changing tack. “Mordecai will be there. Perhaps you and he could have a chat.”

 _Yes, hand her off onto someone else so you don’t have to deal with talking to her in an informal setting. That’s sure to help you resolve your issues,_ Kathryn thought. Janeway waited for her Captain’s side to offer some sort of cutting rebuke.

But it didn’t come.

_Oh god, maybe I should just go crazy. I already feel like I need a drink._

Looking back, she saw that Seven had a very odd look on her face; as if she was desperately trying to stop herself from saying something.

“Seven?”

“I can hardly wait,” the Borg replied testily.


	9. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seven and Sayuri both step outside of their comfort zone to try and impress the people they care about. However, a misunderstanding almost destroys Seven's hopes once and for all.

Drawing in one last, steadying breath, Sayuri Yoshida stepped forward, the doors of the mess hall which many saw as inviting opening ominously before her. As they parted, what had been a dull, rhythmic pulsing in the back of her head was suddenly multiplied, and the raucous cacophony of a party in full swing assaulted her ears. The general babble of the crew, some of them already in a slightly inebriated state, mingled with the flashing lights and thumping beats of the improvised dance floor to create a wall of noise which seemed to thicken the very air itself. Eyes darting around nervously, the young science officer wondered where she might best be able to stand unnoticed.

Sayuri had always disliked parties, and in fact, this was the first one on Voyager that she had ever attended. After a few disastrous and highly embarrassing incidents in her early academy years, she had sworn off them altogether. To her mind, they were the purview of the pretty, popular, and confident; none of which were words Sayuri would use to describe herself. It wouldn’t even be so bad if she at least had a group of close friends to cling to for the entire night, but sadly, that wasn’t the case either. All she could generally hope to do was hover inconspicuously in the corner, sipping a drink and wishing she was back in her bed while being ignored by everyone, until eventually, she just gave up and left, alone. Truth be told, she had expected that she would die without ever having gone to another one; something which would have been just fine with her. As far as she was concerned, it would have taken something pretty special to make her change her mind.

She hadn’t reckoned on actually finding such a thing.

After slinking through the entrance, Sayuri made a beeline for the replicators. They were out of the way, removed from the main food counter and bar, and thus, the majority of the other people; perfect for her. Yet, even as she tried her best to avoid the awkwardness of socialization, her gaze scanned the crowd for the man who was sure to be the centre of everyone’s attention: the hero of the battle, Mordecai.

He was the reason she had come, and it was for him that she wore her new emerald dress, and had attempted to apply some makeup-another thing she was unaccustomed to. She was less than satisfied with her resulting appearance, but she accepted that it was probably a bit nicer than usual. In truth, it all felt rather superfluous. She knew logically that such trivial changes in appearance would probably be irrelevant to the synthetic man; but that didn’t stop her from trying her hardest all the same. After all, if she was going to be a silly daydreamer, she might as well go the whole way.

Sure enough, her roaming eyes quickly located the gleam of Mordecai’s ever-dazzling plating, at the heart of the largest cluster in the room. His entourage, for that was how it appeared, seemed to be hanging off his every word, laughing loudly and often, as well as sometimes slipping into rapturous silence. Sayuri could already feel the first dark tendrils of envy snake through her belly as she spotted that Mordecai’s closest admirers were several of Voyager’s most attractive female officers. Before, Sayuri had looked at them with admiration, wishing she possessed a fraction of their natural charm and grace. Now, though, jealousy reared its ugly head. They weren’t really interested in Mordecai; the complex and brilliant machine she had come to know and admire. They were simply enamoured with his raw power and the display he had put on, just like the superficial women who swooned over every macho man at the gym.

As always, Mordecai’s attitude was almost impossible to discern. He seemed to be enjoying the attention, although he approached it with the same calm reserve he applied to everything else; as if there was nothing in life he had not experienced before. Even as Sayuri watched, the metal man amused the crowd with yet another hidden talent, levitating a stream of wine from the glass of one admirer into another’s with a few casual gestures. By now, Sayuri wasn’t all that shocked; Mordecai seemed to pull new abilities out of his hat every other minute, and this was just the most recent of many.

_How small we must seem to him. Here I am, worrying about competition, yet we’re like ants vying for the affections of a lion._

Sayuri retrieved a glass of something strong and sweet from the replicator, before resuming her mournful vigil. Perhaps if she downed enough of these, she could at least muster the courage to talk to him, for what good it would do. That, or forget about everyone and everything. Either was fine.

Focusing on her beverage, Sayuri barely registered the presence which had drawn up next to her, until it spoke.

“Ensign Yoshida. You seem to be displaying an anomalously low level of enthusiasm for the festivities.”

Sayuri started, barely managing to stop her drink from emptying over her shoes.

“Seven!” she exclaimed, recognizing the phraseology of the statement and the clipped tone before she’d even turned to face the taller woman. “Ma-Ma’am. Sorry…you startled me.”

The Borg looked nonplussed.

“I apologize. It was not my intention to…‘sneak’.”

“No…no, it’s alright,” Sayuri responded, returning to nervously sipping her cocktail. “I was a million miles away anyway.”

Seven’s look of confusion persisted.

“A saying,” Sayuri clarified. “I mean that my mind was focused on something else.”

“I see. What?”

“O-Oh, nothing, really…I-I guess I’m still just a bit shaken,” Sayuri hastened through her answer, quickly searching around for something else to talk about. The last thing she needed was for anyone to find out what she was really thinking. As she dithered, she took in Seven’s appearance, and was struck by the fact that the Borg woman was not wearing one of her customary biosuits. Instead, her tall, Nordic frame was clad in a simple but elegant dress made from some sort of flowing, sky-blue fabric. It was really quite beautiful, although the effect was somewhat spoiled by Seven’s customary severe stance. Her hair, too, was free from the tight bun she usually favoured, and Sayuri was amazed at how long it was. She never would have guessed that Seven could look so, well, feminine.

_It’s almost like she’s trying to impress someone._

For a moment, another twinge of irrational jealousy shot through Sayuri’s body. Was Seven also after Mordecai? Maybe; after all, she was Borg, and he was a machine. It would no doubt be a very ‘compatible’ pairing.

Sayuri regretted the harsh words immediately, even though they hadn’t gotten any further than her own head. Of course Seven wasn’t interested. She was making no effort to interact with Mordecai; in fact, she was one of the only people in the room that wasn’t. Besides, from the one conversation they’d ever had on the subject, Sayuri got the impression that Seven’s preferences tended to lean in the opposite direction anyway.

_What the hell has gotten into me?_

This wasn’t like her. Lurking on the outskirts of the room, yes, but not bitterly resenting everyone else present.

“Perhaps you should consider ‘dancing’,” Seven suggested evenly. “Kathryn has informed me that the purpose of this gathering is to allow the crew to ‘work off’ their stress. Rhythmic body motion and imbibing copious amounts of intoxicants seem to be the preferred methods of many individuals.”

Sayuri was about to comment on the fact that trying to dance in front of everyone would actually be a guaranteed way to add to her stress levels, but something Seven had said caught her attention.

“‘Kathryn’?”

The expression which crossed Seven’s face reminded her of how a child might look when caught stealing a cookie.

“An error. I meant the Captain.”

“Oh,” Sayuri replied. Honestly, she had forgotten that the formidable Janeway even had a first name. Then, a few seconds later, and with an almost audible thud, the penny dropped. Their conversation the other day, Seven’s dress, and now, the fact that she seemed to be on first-name terms with the Captain. “Oh…”

 _Oh dear. And I thought_ I _was the queen of wishful thinking. Poor Seven._

“You look very nice,” Sayuri blurted out. She wasn’t sure exactly why, but she knew that it was something she would like to hear herself; and Seven’s situation wasn’t that different to her own.

“Thank you,” Seven replied, although she seemed as perplexed by the out-of-the blue compliment as Sayuri was. “I find this type of clothing inefficient; however I have been told that it is customary to wear it at such events.” Then, after a moment, she added, “You are also aesthetically pleasing.”

“Thank you, Ma’am,” Sayuri knew it was a rote response, probably learned from one of the Borg woman’s lessons with the Doctor, but she appreciated the thought, even if she didn’t believe the statement itself.

A semi-comfortable silence settled between the two women as they sipped their respective drinks and observed the happenings around them. It was funny, Sayuri thought, that of all the people in the room, Seven was probably the one most similar to her. They were both a part of the crew, but not quite part of the family, and now, they were both waiting on people who they would almost certainly never have.

“Seven…” Sayuri ventured at last, sure that by now the synthenol must be kicking in because she’d never normally be so forward. “Do you…do you ever get lonely?”

The other woman didn’t reply straight away. In fact, if it wasn’t for Seven’s enhanced senses, Sayuri would have thought the Borg hadn’t heard her at all. Glancing sidelong at her companion, she followed Seven’s gaze, and was unsurprised to find that it was fixed on a short, red-headed figure on the far side of the room.

“Yes.” The Borg replied eventually, without turning her head.

“Me too,” Sayuri finished simply, before downing what was left of her drink.

* * *

 Captain Janeway accepted the glass her first officer held out to her, taking a small, token sip of the bubbling, champagne-like concoction. As she did, she surveyed the room, trying to get a feel for the mood of the crew. Truth be told, she had been unsure about authorising a party so soon after such a devastating event, especially when there were still repairs to be completed. It had been a bit of a gamble, and may have come off as insensitive, but from the way she could see everyone blowing off steam now, she knew she’d made a good call. After all, in the delta quadrant, survival was something worthy of celebration.

As was picking up new allies.

“So, I’ve got to ask,” she said, nudging Chakotay with a pointed glance towards Mordecai and his throng with her eyes. “Now that we’ve had the chance to observe him for a while, what’s your opinion of our new crewman?”

The first officer chuckled under his breath.

“I knew that was coming,” he replied. “And it should be a simple question, but to tell you the truth, I’m still having difficulty thinking of an answer. There’s just so much about him I can’t even wrap my head around.” Chakotay paused thoughtfully, his brow wrinkling. “One thing’s for certain, though, and that is, we all owe him a great debt.”

“You can say that again,” Janeway agreed. On the surface, she maintained her collected command mask, but underneath, her mind was racing with ideas; it had been ever since the attack. “He’s a game changer, Chakotay. The way he took out that cube…it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen. The repairs, too; he’s lessened our workload by a month. And I get the feeling we’re still only scratching the surface of his potential.”

“I know,” the first officer said pensively. “Which makes me wonder what he’s doing here; I mean, on Voyager. We’re one tiny ship, lost on the other side of the galaxy; inconsequential in terms of the bigger picture. What does a being that powerful have to gain by staying with us?”

“You’re worried he might turn out to be another Q?” Janeway smirked. “Maybe it’s as simple as he says; that he sees in us kindred spirits whom he wants to help in any way he can. Certainly, if he has any ulterior motives, he’s keeping them well hidden. He’s taken to the uniform better than any cadet fresh out of the academy.”

“That’s just it though,” Chakotay said, leaning in closer and lowering his voice. “Will it last? How long do you think someone with his abilities will be happy to follow orders? Don’t get me wrong, Mordecai’s a godsend, and I’m well aware of the fact that I wouldn’t be standing here now if it weren’t for him…I just think we should be cautious. He could take over the ship in a heartbeat if he wanted to.”

“Trust me, Chakotay,” the Captain replied. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned out here, it’s to always assume the worst. With that said, Mordecai’s done more than enough to earn my trust. If he wished harm on us, all he had to do was sit back and let the Borg have their way.”

“You’re right, you’re right,” Chakotay conceded, raising his hands. “I guess I’m just not used to things going our way.”

Janeway nodded in agreement. In truth, she shared some of her first officer’s concerns, but given how desperate their situation was, she couldn’t afford to hedge her bets. The fact was that Mordecai _could_ just decide to leave at any moment, and she had to do everything in her power to prevent that from happening. He was too valuable an asset to lose. And that meant leaving her doubts at the door and setting an example for others by placing her trust in him. It was an ironic lesson she had learned these past few years, given all the double-crossings and betrayals Voyager had experienced. Yet, had it not been for her willingness to take leaps of faith, she doubted that they would have made it this far. The Maquis were proof of that.

And then, of course, there was Seven of Nine. Janeway hadn’t trusted the Borg when she’d struck that unorthodox deal, but she had had been in a precarious situation, and forced to place a lot of faith in Seven after severing her from the Collective. And again, just like with the Maquis, she had been handsomely rewarded for taking a risk.

“That’s odd…” Chakotay mumbled, more to himself than to her.

“What?” Janeway replied immediately, snapping back to the moment. She never liked hearing those words; usually nothing good came of them. “Is something wrong?”

“No, no…” the first officer said, cocking his head slightly. “I just thought I heard…I don’t know, some sort of high-pitched sound. Like a ringing or a…a buzzing.”

Janeway imitated him, listening as intently as she could, but it was impossible to hear anything over the loud music and babble of the crew.

“Some kind of electrical fault?”

“I don’t think so,” Chakotay shook his head, returning to the easy-going, cheerful expression he usually wore. “Ah, it was nothing; probably just some feedback from the speakers. It’s gone now.”

“Well,” the Captain said, letting out a breath. “As long as you’re sure.”

“Yeah, it’s fine,” the first officer glanced back at the dance floor. “Care for a whirl?”

Janeway considered it, but she didn’t really feel in the mood for dancing. Not so soon after what had happened. It was fine for the others, but she had to shoulder responsibility for the deaths which had occurred, as well as the task of getting the ship back together again. All in all, it didn’t put her in a particularly jovial mood.

“Sorry, I’d like to, but I really should be getting back to the bridge,” she politely declined. It wasn’t strictly a lie; there were some unwelcome but necessary formalities she needed to attend to, deaths to report and quarters to be reassigned.

_I still need to get Seven moved into a place of her own. God, it seems like years ago that we were having that conversation._

Which raised an interesting question.

_Where is Seven? I hope she didn’t duck out of coming._

Once again, Janeway let her eyes wander around the mess. Seven should be distinctive in one of her shiny biosuits, but the Captain couldn’t see it anywhere. No plum, no silver, not even the brown one. Her heart sank a bit, although quite what would change if the Borg was present, she wasn’t sure.

Then, Kathryn felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end; as if she was being watched. She turned around, looking away from the main groups near the food counter and towards the replicators in the corner. Her breath caught in her throat as she suddenly found herself staring directly into the pale blue eyes of the person she was looking for, which had undeniably been fixed on her even before she’d even looked over.

_Oh wow…._

She realised now why her cursory surveying of the room earlier had been ineffective. Seven was wearing casual clothes, although ‘casual’ hardly seemed to be a fitting word, and it made a world of difference to her appearance. The dress which hugged the tall Borg’s statuesque form was simply gorgeous, and complimented her fair skin perfectly. Coupled with the thick tresses of long, golden hair which cascaded across her shoulders and framed her angelic face, Seven was quite honestly breath-taking. Janeway just stood there for a moment, raking her eyes over every part of the blonde’s body, before she realised how inappropriate she was being.

_Jesus Christ, get a grip on yourself. She’s your astrometrics officer, not a piece of meat._

_God, but she’s so incredible. Just look at that figure…_

“Kathryn?...Captain?” she was numbly aware that Chakotay had said something, but missed it completely, lost in the depths of Seven’s enchanting gaze.

“Huh…wha?”

_Great. Very captainly._

“I was just saying, give me a comm when you want me to come and relieve you,” her number one was looking at her with a vaguely concerned expression. “Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Fine…fine,” Kathryn couldn’t take anymore. That simple look from Seven was doing dangerous things to her insides, and she’d already been too careless with her open appreciation. With a strong exertion of will and more than a bit of reluctance, she broke off their eye contact and turned back to Chakotay. “Sorry, I was just…lost in thought for a moment. Thank you, Commander. Have a good evening.”

With that, Janeway hurriedly pressed her still half-full glass into her bewildered first officer’s hands, and made a beeline for the door as graciously as she could.

“You too,” he called after her, looking with bemusement at the two drinks he was now carrying.

* * *

 As Seven of Nine watched the Captain leave, a pang of hurt and confusion flared in her stomach. Janeway had looked at her for the first time that evening, and then immediately departed, without even saying farewell to the other members of the senior staff as was her custom at such gatherings. It could not be a coincidence.

What had she done wrong?

Seven mentally replayed everything which had transpired since the last time Janeway and she had amicably conversed earlier that day. She analysed every action she’d taken, and whether any of them could possibly have caused the Captain to react the way she just had. By the time she had run through each instance a few seconds later, there was only one thing she could identify as a possible factor: her present appearance.

Was it insufficient or even…repulsive to Kathryn? The thought that a simple glance at the Borg was enough to make Janeway flee the mess hall filled Seven with such pain, that she felt the urge to secrete liquid from her one remaining human eye. Nevertheless, it was the only possible explanation. Seven had been apprehensive about wearing the ‘dress’, as it exposed more of her skin than her normal attire, and thus revealed more of her implants…more of her imperfections. In spite of that, she had decided to try and replicate one for herself, as she had seen Kathryn wear similar garments to these informal functions. She had hoped it might impress the Captain, and be a ‘pleasant surprise’. Apparently though, she had made a major miscalculation, because it had actually had the opposite effect. Perhaps her implants were a reminder of the recent traumatic events that had nearly claimed the Captain’s life.

There was only one logical recourse if she intended to continue with her plan to establish a romantic relationship with Kathryn. She had to ascertain what it was that Janeway found so abhorrent about her appearance, so she could ensure that it would never be exposed again. And the only way to do that was to follow the Captain and enquire. The thought made Seven even sadder. She did not want to experience further rejection so soon after the first time, but there was little sense in delaying. The sooner she identified the flaw, the sooner she could attempt to compensate for it.

“I must go,” Seven said abruptly, her voice devoid of any inflection.

Sayuri looked at her and nodded, as if she knew what Seven was thinking.

“Good luck.”

Seven did not understand what was implied by that comment, but she quickly discarded it. Nothing was currently relevant except for reaching the Captain. The Borg woman took a few loping strides, before pausing to remove her high heels so she could move faster. That was the one and only advantage to this form of clothing; the shoes were detachable. She did not understand why the Doctor still insisted on incorporating such an inefficient style of footwear into her biosuits. Setting off at a brisk walk, knowing that her faster pace and longer legs would allow her to gain ground on Janeway, Seven navigated the maze of corridors, glad that they were mostly empty. Kathryn’s destination was unknown, but it was likely that regardless of her ultimate goal, she would stop at her quarters first to change. That would be the most suitable place for them to converse.

“Computer, locate Captain Janeway,” she ordered, just to be sure.

“Captain Janeway is in her quarters,” came the reply, confirming Seven’s ‘hunch’.

As she walked, Seven could still make out areas of damage from the battle they had fought so recently. The halls had been cleared of major debris, as well as cleaned thoroughly to remove all the blood, both Borg and human, but there were still many scorch marks and cracked wall panels visible. ‘Fortunately’, astrometrics had been vacant at the time of the attack, and had thus been mostly ignored by the Borg.

Before long, Seven stood outside the door to Janeway’s living quarters. She hesitated momentarily, before pressing the buzzer, remembering that it was impolite to enter someone else’s private home unannounced. It would have been more efficient to simply walk in and remove the possibility of being denied entry, but this time she was determined to adhere to everything she had learned. Presenting herself favourably to Kathryn was paramount.

Seven was also acutely aware that she may be about to experience more negative emotions. The prospect was an unwelcome one, but it was necessary.

_Failure is not an option._

“Who is it?” the Captain’s voice sounded over the intercom after a few seconds.

“Seven of Nine,” she replied, unsettled by how dry her mouth had become.

More seconds ticked by, and with each one that passed, Seven’s heart sank a little lower.

“Come in,” the reply came eventually, and Seven allowed herself to exhale. At least Kathryn was not so repulsed that she could not bear to view her again.

Feeling very self-conscious, and trying to angle herself in such a way that her Borg arm was obscured from view, Seven entered and stopped just inside the doors. She immediately spotted Janeway, seated on the edge of the couch and finishing the process of changing into her uniform by affixing the four gold pips to her collar. Seven did not dare look directly at the older woman, fearing the disgust she might see in her eyes. Instead, she focussed on a point just below Kathryn’s face.

“Seven,” the Captain said, betraying nothing with her tone. “What can I do for you?”

“Captain,” Seven returned the greeting, resolutely staring at Janeway’s hands. It occurred to her now that she was completely unsure of the best way to broach the subject. Her ‘gut’ told her that revealing her romantic feelings would not be prudent at this juncture, yet she was unsure of how to phrase her question in such a way as to disguise the truth behind its intent.

“I would like to apologize,” she began. The urge to emit saline liquid from her eye had returned, along with a sensation that her stomach was trying to digest itself, although her Borg systems assured her this was not the case. It was very distressing, but Seven forced her expression to remain as neutral as possible.

“Apologize? Apologize for what? What have you done?” Janeway’s tone remained diplomatic, but there was a small touch of the warmth which Seven was more used to.

“For my appearance. It was not my intention to cause you discomfort.”

“Your appearance?” the Captain repeated, apparently still confused. “Seven, I don’t understand.”

“At the party,” Seven said, her voice beginning to strain as she fought back the urge to cry. “You observed me for ten continuous seconds, then immediately departed without saying goodbye to the other guests, a most anomalous behaviour for you. It is apparent that some aspect of my appearance is repellent to you, since that is all that has changed since we last interacted. I…I wish to know which part, so I can ensure that you will not have to view it again.”

Seven risked a brief glance at Janeway’s face. Her worst fears were confirmed when she saw that the older woman wore an expression which could only be described as ‘horror-struck’. It was enough to break her already strained resolve, and despite her best efforts, a few rebellious tears began to leak from her eye.

_I knew it. I am imperfect. She is disgusted by me; by the fact that I am still Borg. I should not have come here._

Suddenly wanting nothing more than to retreat to the quiet safety of the cargo bay and her alcove, Seven was about to turn and flee when Kathryn finally spoke.

* * *

“Oh no,” Janeway whispered, feeling a very real pain in her chest that could only be described as her heart breaking. “Oh god, no no no, Seven, that wasn’t…that isn’t what I think at all. You’ve misunderstood.”

 _What have you done? What were you thinking, just running off like that? Like some kind of disgusting coward._ Kathryn the woman was pounding at the bars of her prison, screaming at the Captain. And she was putting up a pretty good fight for someone who had been so crushed just days ago. _Just look at poor Seven. You heartless bitch, how could you ever make her feel like that?_

_I…I…I didn’t…_

_No, no excuses. This time, you shut the fuck up and let me do the talking._

With that settled as quickly as it had begun, Kathryn mentally removed her command mask and allowed her features to soften in compassion.

“Seven…” she began again, standing up and closing the distance between them, although stopping short of actually touching the Borg woman. “Seven…look at me…please.”

Slowly, as if afraid of being struck at any moment, Seven turned back around. Her porcelain features were tear-streaked and trembling, and Kathryn felt another sharp pang of guilt. Regardless of anything else, she had to set this right.

“Seven, I am so sorry if that’s what you thought. Please believe me when I say that I could never ever find any part of you ‘repellent’.” She reached out as she spoke, ready to pull back immediately if Seven retreated, but the Borg allowed her to place a comforting hand on her shoulder. Kathryn made sure to touch one of the starburst implants there, stroking her thumb over both the metal and the flesh. Some improper thoughts snuck into her mind at the electrifying contact of skin on skin, but she shoved them aside impatiently.

“Seven, you…you…” Janeway faltered, suddenly realising how close she was to revealing what she really felt. The words were on the tip of her tongue; any number of things which she yearned to say.

_Seven, you are absolutely the most beautiful woman I have ever seen._

_Seven, you are the most incredible person I have ever met; you mean the world to me._

_Seven, you are the woman I love so much it hurts just to think about it._

_Seven…you_ are _the perfection you seek._

“…you look really great in that dress.”

 _Now who’s the coward?_ The Captain snickered, before Kathryn violently stamped her back down again.

Seven sniffled slightly, but behind the tears, her eyes brightened.

“Really?” she asked, the hopefulness in her voice sandpapering Kathryn’s already aching heart. “You are not attempting to ‘spare my feelings’?”

“No, I mean it, really,” Janeway replied. “Seven, you should never be ashamed; not of your body, not of who you are, not of anything.”

Kathryn longed to pull the younger woman into a hug; a tight, comforting, loving embrace which would convey everything she seemed unable to say. Instead, she settled for simply continuing to rub Seven’s shoulder.

“Acceptable,” the Borg woman said eventually, her demeanour slowly returning to normal after her sudden, uncharacteristic emotional display. “I am pleased to know that I was mistaken in my initial assessment.”

Then, her brow furrowed in thought.

“If that is the case, what was the meaning of your sudden departure?”

“…nothing really,” Kathryn bluffed. Her mind was in turmoil, but she decided that it was best to keep the truth to herself…at least for now. “I realised that I had stayed later than I meant to, and that I was needed on the bridge.”

Seven looked slightly abashed at that.

“Apologies, Captain, I have delayed you from your duties even further.”

“It’s quite all right,” Janeway replied. Now that Seven was pretty much herself again, she reluctantly lowered her hand and broke the contact between them, immediately missing the sensation. “I’d rather that we cleared up this misunderstanding now. I…I wouldn’t want you to return to you alcove feeling sad.”

“Thank you, Captain,” the Borg glanced at where Janeway’s hand had been, and for one second, the older woman thought she saw a flicker of loss in her companion’s eyes.

_Just my eyes playing tricks_

“Seven, please. When we’re off duty or alone like this, you can call me Kathryn.”

The smile which lit up the blonde’s face was like the sun parting the clouds on a rainy afternoon.

“Yes, _Kathryn_. I will comply.”

Witnessing such a display of unguarded joy, and hearing her true name on Seven’s lips for the first time was utterly enchanting. The way she whispered it, almost like a reverent prayer, made Janeway quite weak in the knees.

_Oh wow. Maybe that was a mistake. An amazing, soul-healing mistake._

Silence enveloped them for a few long seconds, and Kathryn could feel herself teetering on the edge of an invisible precipice. There was no doubt in her mind that if Seven suddenly swooped in to kiss her at that moment, she wouldn’t put up one shred of resistance.

In fact, she silently begged that it would happen. She was tired of fighting herself over this, but she was also paralysed by some innate inability to be the one that made the first move. It was as if it were somehow more acceptable to acquiesce to a request from Seven than to initiate, or at least, attempt to initiate a relationship herself. That kind of passive mentality did not sit well with Kathryn at all. The only reason she could think of for feeling that way was a desire to be sure that Seven truly understood the implications of a partnership.

It was an unfair demand to make really, considering that the past few days had demonstrated to Janeway that she barely understood them herself.

“I have detained you long enough,” the Borg said at last, backing away slightly towards the door. Kathryn just stood there limply, knowing that if she tried to move, she would probably collapse, or scream.

_Christ, this is killing me._

“Yes, I should go…bridge…yeah.” _Oh for god’s sake._ “Goodnight, Seven. Sweet dreams.”

“Goodnight…Kathryn.”

And with that, she was gone, leaving an utterly scrambled Janeway in her wake. The Captain stared at where the Borg had been moments ago, trying to make sense of all the conflicting messages in her head and re-establish some kind of coherent thinking pattern to cut through the cognitive dissonance she was experiencing. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry; she felt like doing both. In the end, Kathryn settled for an uncharacteristic display of her own, and hurled an empty coffee mug across the room to shatter on the unyielding bulkhead.

 _Maybe B’Elanna has things figured out after all._ She thought, before sheepishly retrieving a dustpan and brush.


	10. Perdition Protocol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the twilight of their empire, the Skyrion struggle to repel a massive naval offensive from The Enemy's fleet. Close to home, Seven has a new idea for how to improve her chances with Janeway, and Sayuri suffers the after-effects of a party.

Lights flashed and klaxons blared as another shot impacted on the hull. This time, the resulting explosion was close enough to be felt through the floor of the bridge, and made multiple crewmembers pause in place momentarily. Smoke and sparks billowed from several gutted consoles, filling the air with an acrid electrical tang.

“Lord Admiral, we cannot sustain many more hits!” one of the officers at the helm shouted urgently. “Levels thirty one through one hundred and twenty four are reporting a catastrophic failure of life support in many sections. Secondary batteries seven and ten are down to half strength.”

“She’ll hold a little longer,” Admiral Gundal Hastrok growled, using his one remaining lower arm to rise from the Captain’s chair. “Until then, we still have a job to do. Keep punching forward with the assault cannons. We need a brightlance firing solution on the primary control ship.”

The Skybreaker’s mighty engines flared to life, rumbling in response to the order. On the main viewscreen, the image shifted as the vessel adjusted its course, panning across the array of Black Armada ships which swarmed like locusts on all sides. Crimson bolts lashed across the dark expanse of space, streaking from ship to ship in an overwhelming medley of destruction. Many fireballs could be seen blossoming in the distance; each one signalling the loss of another few hundred lives.

It was the bloodiest non-terrestrial battle of the war so far. The most recent figures put Skyrion losses at around three hundred ships, which totalled at least fifty thousand crew dead or unaccounted for. And no less than a third of those casualties had been in first ten minutes. The entire twelfth fleet had been wiped out in the blink of an eye, utterly annihilated as the Dread Armada tore its way out of warp space and simply smashed right into them; one of The Enemy’s favourite tactics. Skyrion ships were designed for conventional space warfare; long range engagements characterised by brief skirmishes and overwhelming salvos of fire. Unfortunately, The Enemy did not adhere to the accepted school of military doctrine. His necrocraft were more like monsters than starships. The largest were equipped with huge, maw-like apparatuses on the front, surrounded by great mechanical appendages which they used to literally tear ships apart. They closed the distance in the blink of an eye, and turned even the most tightly held formation into a nightmarish pandemonium where an attack could come from any direction.

Like what was happening right now.

“Two targets at three one four mark two eight nine,” tactical station three called in. “Firing primary weapons.”

Muted booms sounded below as the Skybreaker unleashed a tightly-packed volley from its hundred-strong battery of assault lasers. Gundal looked on in satisfaction, watching the shots rip into the two enemy craft which had gotten too close. The attack gutted them like plump kudfish, spilling their innards across the void.

The Skybreaker was the flagship of the Skyrion Imperial Fleet, and the largest vessel in the known galaxy. It had been built during the third Sedition War, in the hopes that its simple arrival in a system would be enough to quell rebellions without the need for bloodshed. Its name was derived from the three brightlances it carried; titanic energy weapons of such colossal power that firing them at a planet would ignite its atmosphere, destroying every living thing on the surface in a devastating inferno. To date, only one of the trio had ever been used in such a manner; to cleanse the corrupted world of Zethrid IV, whose entire population had been irreparably subverted by The Enemy’s malign influence.

“Targets down, but docking cradle five reports another wave of boarding craft sir.”

“How many guardians left in that section?” Hastrok asked, fearing that he already knew the answer.

“Bio-d tags indicate twenty six combat-ready and a further ten with only minor injuries.”

“It won’t be enough…not nearly enough,” the Admiral muttered. It weighed heavily on his heart, but he knew what his orders must be. “Overload sub-reactor ninety eight. Destroy the entire section. It’s too close to the arcum core to risk the Turned gaining a foothold.”

“Sir..?”

“Do as I say!” Gundal barked. “Their sacrifice will be remembered. Better to die in fire than to be bled dry in The Enemy’s reclamators.”

“As you command, Sir,” a few key taps later, and another tiny portion of the ship schematic changed from white to red. “Spirits rest their souls.”

“Spirits…” the Admiral chuckled sardonically, mostly to himself. “The Spirits have long since abandoned this nation, boy.”

“Brightlance corridor is almost clear,” Prelate Farika, Hastrok’s second in command, announced. He was a stoic man of few words, but he was also one of the bravest, most dependable soldiers Gundal knew. He had served as quartermaster on the Admiral’s previous posting, and when Gundal had been given command of the Skybreaker, he had immediately requested the grizzled man as his first officer. With the Turned infiltrating every level of their command structure, trustworthiness was an ever-rarer trait these days.

More shots slammed into the Skybreaker. The titanic vessel was taking fire from all directions, and even as it fought off wave after wave of enemy fighters, cruisers, and destroyers, the Admiral knew that it was only a matter of time before it would no longer be able to hold together. The damage they’d sustained already exceeded catastrophic levels, and firing the brightlances would undoubtedly overload the beleaguered main reactor. When that happened, they would have mere minutes to make it to the escape pods. Yet, it would all be worth it if they could just take out the enemy capital ship.

The one, and perhaps, only weakness of The Enemy’s navy was its hierarchical control structure. Many of the smaller craft were heavily automated, and relied on the processing power of the capital ships’ mainframes to direct them in battle. These dreadnaught-class super-vessels rivalled the Skybreaker in size and power, but if they could be destroyed or sufficiently damaged, it would essentially nullify the majority of the necrocraft in that sector.

At least, that was the theory. It was a feat which had never actually been accomplished. Only a brightlance stood any chance of penetrating the dreadnaught’s multi-layered shielding and nullplate hull armour.

“Lord Admiral, collision alert!” the helm reported. “It’s the Partisan’s Lament. Her engines are offline and she’s drifting across our vector.”

“How much time until impact?”

“Less than three minutes Sir.”

“Correcting our course will delay brightlance firing by another ten minutes while we realign.” Farika noted. “I do not think our hull integrity will last that long.”

His implication hung in the air.

 _More tough choices._ Gundal sighed. He was weary of them. So many lives had been sacrificed on his orders, and for what? The Enemy was stronger than ever, and with each day, more and more convoys of transports arrived at the inner worlds, bearing refugees from outer-system massacres.

“Hail the Partisan’s Lament,” he said bleakly.

The main viewer changed to a static-laced image of the allied ship’s bridge. In the background, crew could be seen darting in all directions, attending to fires and desperately trying to exact repairs.

“Lord Admiral. This is Captain Yaraxis. What is it you require?” a figure in the centre of the image said, standing from his chair. His voice was strained, and from the way his eyes kept darting nervously back and forth, Gundal could tell he was worried. That was understandable. What Captain wouldn’t be, given these grave circumstances?

Hastrok surveyed the man as best he could, given the poor image quality. Yaraxis bore several fresh scars on his left cheek, marring his otherwise youthful appearance. That was good. Any man who took a wound like that in the line of duty was a patriot. And Gundal knew only a patriot would understand what must be done.

“How close are you to finishing repairs to your engines?” he asked.

“We were hit pretty badly in that last wave, Sir. Ripper drones shredded our primary transmission line. I have mender teams working on it now, but it will be at least thirty minutes before we are fully operational again.”

“That’s no good Captain.” Gundal replied, cursing under his breath. “You’re obstructing the Skybreaker’s firing solution, and we’re only going to have this one shot…I’m sorry. Get what crew you can to your escape pods. You have two minutes.”

Yaraxis stared at the Admiral for a few long seconds, before finally nodding in agreement.

“Understood Sir. I will give the order to evacuate.”

Of course, he knew as well as Gundal that there was no way anyone on the bridge of the Partisan’s Lament would make it to the lifeboats in the time remaining.

“End transmission,” Hastrok said quietly. There was no sense dwelling on what could not be changed. This war was a far cry from the fables and ballads of old. Here, a hero was defined not by the strength of their blade arm or by their cunning in battle, but by their willingness to die for a cause many had already given up as hopeless, with the full knowledge that their sacrifice might ultimately change nothing.

“Intensify forward shields, and evacuate all non-critical fore sections.” Gundal called out. The Skybreaker was already doomed, and waiting to ram the Partisan’s Lament rather than blowing it out of the way would give the other ship as much time as possible. All they needed to do was survive long enough to get that shot off.

“Sir, I’m getting something on the long-ranges,” the navigator reported. “An unknown object heading this way, too small to be a ship.”

The Admiral glanced at his personal monitor. Sure enough, there was a blip moving in from outside the combat zone.

“Perhaps a stray fighter craft?”

“Negative, its movement pattern is too erratic.”

“Then a missile?”

“No sir, I don’t think…”

“It’s him,” Farika said flatly. He did not raise his voice, but the silence which followed his words was absolute, save for the dull pounding of guns and the constant hum of the alert. “I’d recognise that signature anywhere. The last time I saw it at was the sacking of Realion.”

“T-That’s impossible,” the navigator replied, his tone indicating that it was more a hope than a fact. “Latest reports place him at least five sectors away.”

“Intelligence has been wrong before,” Hastrok said, a sinking feeling clawing at the bottom of his stomach. “The Enemy does not obey any known form of logistics projection. He goes where he pleases, when he pleases.”

Turning to the prelate, he added in a quieter voice, “Are you sure?”

“I would never make the claim if I didn’t know it was true.”

“I-Intercept in under two minutes!” the navigator shouted, now with open terror in his voice. Shaking, he rose from his chair and turned to face the Admiral. “S-Sir, regrettably I must tender my r-resignation from your command.”

“What are you talking about soldier?” Gundal growled. “Return to your station immediately.”

“It’s b-been an honour, Sir,” the navigator said, giving a trembling salute. Then, in one quick motion, he drew his sidearm, pressed it to his temple, and fired. The crack of the gunshot echoed off the metal walls; a deafening clang that could just as well have been a funeral gong.

Frozen in shock, the assembled crew could only watch as the navigator’s body slumped lifelessly to the deck. Grey blood began to pool around his corpse, and several of the other officers’ eyes were drawn to their own pistols. They’d all heard the stories of The Enemy’s numerous atrocities, and how those he took returned under his command, all trace of who they had once been stripped away.

The Admiral slammed his fist on the arm of his chair, immediately returning attention to him.

“Anyone else so much as thinks about drawing a weapon!” He roared. “And I will send your disgraced corpses back to your families on pikes! We are soldiers! We have a mission, and no one, not even The Enemy himself, will stand between our objective and us! Am I understood!?”

A few frightened nods.

“Return to your posts, and someone remove that coward’s body from my sight.”

When fear gripped a man’s heart, only a greater fear could overrule it. The Admiral knew this, and watched with satisfaction as his ashen-faced crew slowly turned back to their consoles. He didn’t know why The Enemy had chosen to make an appearance now, but they still had just enough time to take the shot before he arrived. Afterwards…well….

“Sir, perdition protocol dictates that The Enemy’s arrival in a sector should lead to an immediate withdrawal,” Farika stated. “Failure to comply could be considered a capital offence.”

“That it could,” Gundal replied. “I’ll be sure to note your objections in my report.”

“Just thinking of my career, Sir.” The Prelate’s tone was utterly deadpan, but Hastrok recognised the acerbic humour behind it. In times like this, it often came down to a choice between laughing and cracking.

“Impact with the Partisan’s Lament in twenty seconds!” The helm called out.

Gundal opened a ship-wide channel, “all hands, brace for impact!”

The other ship’s foundering bulk filled the screen. Then, with a jolt that made the entire bridge shudder ominously, the Skybreaker struck it head-on. A dull roar from multiple explosions and the shrill screech of tortured metal could be both heard and felt through the floor, and several more sections turned red on the ship schematic. For a few seconds, all that could be seen on the main viewer was fire and static. Then, they were clear, thrusting through the ruins of the Partisan’s Lament and shedding debris in all directions.

“Status?!” Hastrok shouted, coughing as he caught a lungful of smoke.

“All forward assault cannons are down. Docking bays five and twenty four are down. Auxiliary shield projectors three hundred and fourteen through three hundred and sixty eight are down,” the officer at the tactical station reported.

“The brightlances?”

“Checking now...” The young man’s hands blurred across his console as he hastily pulled up damage assessments. “Brightlance two is non-responsive, but the others are still online. If we divert all power from the engines, we should just have enough to fire one.”

“Forty six seconds to Enemy intercept.”

“Twenty one seconds to firing solution.”

A bead of sweat trickled down Gundal’s brow. The battle would be decided in these next few moments. A million lives hanging in the balance for the sake of a twenty seven second difference.

It was twenty-six more seconds than they needed.

Staring down the small blip racing towards them on the navigation screen, he allowed his lips to curl in satisfaction.

“Too late, demonspawn. Fire!”

* * *

 Seven of Nine stood in front of her console in cargo bay two, although it had been many minutes since she had last interacted with it. To the outside observer, it would have looked like she was frozen in time; body perfectly stationary except for the occasional blink. Inside though, her mind was working overtime.

After her conversation with Kathryn in the Captain’s quarters, and the rectifying of some misunderstandings, it seemed that her desire to engage the other woman romantically was still potentially viable. However, things had been complicated by recent events. The arrival of Mordecai, and the subsequent Borg attack had ‘thrown a spanner in the works’, as B’Elanna would say. Kathryn was no doubt deeply saddened by the deaths which had occurred, as well as the damage to her vessel. Seven had observed that such events had, in the past, coincided with periods of ‘emotional withdrawal’ by Kathryn. She became less available for philosophical discussions, the frequency with which she smiled or laughed decreased, and the faint lines on her face seemed to become deeper and more numerous. All of this indicated that now would be a sub-optimal time to state her intentions to the Captain.

Seven had also discovered, during her study of the Starfleet Captain’s Handbook, that there was another potential obstacle. While there were no officially defined regulations governing a Captain’s private life, it was strongly implied that Starfleet frowned upon ‘fraternisation’ between a commanding officer and those under her command. It was unlikely that this passage had evaded Kathryn’s notice, given her high regard for Starfleet principles. In fact, it may well be the explanation for why she had not taken a partner before now.

Of course, there were several logical arguments to counter this point. Firstly, Seven was not strictly a part of Kathryn’s crew. According to Starfleet definitions, she would be designated a ‘civilian advisor’; someone who was expected followed the Captain’s orders, but existed outside the regular chain of command. Secondly, there was the fact that the Handbook had not been written with consideration for their present situation. In fact, it clearly stated that Captains should take ‘R&R’ leaves of at least six months between each deep space mission, to give them time to return to their family, if they had one. Voyager’s period in the delta quadrant already greatly exceeded the maximum mission length it would normally undertake. Therefore, it was clear the Starfleet did not expect any Captain to have gone for this duration without an opportunity to interact with their romantic partner. A particular passage even stated:

_It is essential that all Starfleet officers take the proper time to attend to their domestic life, and maintain a healthy balance between duty to the Federation and duty to family. Prolonged periods without such rest, while productive in the short term, have been shown to generate subconscious emotional stresses that can seriously impact an officers’ long-term ability to function in a command capacity._

Seven was confident that these facts should be enough to convince Kathryn. Nevertheless, they did not guarantee success. While the Captain was usually a logical individual, it seemed that humans often acted quite irrationally when it came to matters of romance and procreation. Such unpredictable behaviour made it difficult to anticipate what the Captain’s reaction would be. It was for this reason that she must maximise her chances in every way possible.

The second stage of Seven’s planning, therefore, revolved around ensuring that Kathryn would see her as a suitable mate. Seven had assumed this would be a relatively trivial task. All she had to do was identify characteristics which were considered desirable, and ensure that she displayed them. As always though with human behaviour, what had seemed superficially simple was, in actual fact, deeply complex. During her past few regeneration cycles, Seven had processed every available work of literature in the Voyager database pertaining to romantic coupling; both fictional and non-fictional. Her objective had been to cross reference these sources and extract the commonly occurring variables, creating a short-list of traits that she could focus on. Instead, what she had found was a seemingly endless array of conflicting accounts with almost no meaningful correlation.

The problem was personal preference. Every individual had their own metrics by which to judge a partner’s suitability, and these standards were derived from a lifetime of experience, environmental factors, and genetic predisposition. Without an extensive knowledge of Kathryn’s history, Seven could not hope to begin quantifying what the older woman’s ‘ideal partner’ might be. It was rapidly becoming clear to the Borg why so many human courtship attempts ended in failure. This vital information was not accessible without breaking several social taboos; an act which would in itself make a person undesirable to their intended mate.

Sighing again, Seven turned away from the astrometrics report she had been ignoring. She had intended to finish her work and begin a regeneration cycle, as she had told Kathryn earlier. Now, that course of action no longer seemed satisfactory. Her present dilemma must be resolved, and currently, the method she was using was not yielding any results. Perhaps there was another way to approach it…

The answer came to her after a moment’s contemplation: a simulation. She may not be able to question Janeway directly, but the holodeck could provide an environment where she could trial different methods on a virtual version of the Captain and ascertain their effectiveness. It was common practice during scientific experiments, and should prove equally efficient here.

Mind immediately made up, Seven shut down her console and quickly departed the cargo bay. Now that she had a new plan, she did not want to waste any time. Fortunately, she rarely used the holodeck for personal recreation, so she had a large quantity of hours available. It would no doubt take some time to create a simulation of the Captain that was accurate enough for her needs. It would have to respond in exactly the same way as the real Kathryn, or else the entire exercise would be futile.

The thought of creating this Janeway doppelganger, and then confessing her feelings to it, generated a strange sensation in the base of Seven’s stomach. It was difficult to identify. There were elements of ‘anticipation’ and ‘excitement’, but also…’nervousness’. Most illogical.

The halls were deserted, with most of the crew either still at the party, back in their quarters, or finishing repairs. Arriving at her destination, Seven keyed in some commands on the exterior holodeck control panel. A set of quarters configured like those on Voyager would be a good location to start in, since that would most likely be where the real conversation would take place. It was also a program already available in the database, so it would remove the need to construct a new environment. Once it was loaded, Seven paused to collect her thoughts, then entered.

She was greeted by exactly what she had expected; a standardly laid-out accommodation lacking any personal items or customizations. It consisted of several large sofas arranged around a low table, with a few smaller chairs and a work desk along the walls. A doorway on the left hand side led to the bedroom and en-suite, and a small counter on the right next to a replicator comprised the food preparation area. Outside the ‘windows’, a virtual star field hung motionless, their faint light dimly illuminating the neutral greys and browns of the pristine furniture. Seeing a room designed for habitation so empty and devoid of life stirred something in Seven; a small feeling of…loneliness.

 _Loneliness is irrelevant,_ she repeated automatically to herself.

Except it wasn’t…and that was why she was here.

“Computer, place a privacy lockout on the entrance to holodeck two; authorization Seven-zeta-five.”

“Affirmative.”

The archway slid shut behind the Borg, before disappearing entirely, fully immersing her in this new world. Seven regarded the room, beginning a mental list of preparations that would have to be made. It was not just the representation of Janeway that would need to be perfect; every detail of the environment had to be kept as close to reality as possible.

“Computer,” she began, “simulate warp-factor five…”

* * *

_Is the mess hall usually this blurry?_

Sayuri looked down at her empty glass. It was blurry as well, and was also moving quite erratically.

_That’s strange…wait, when did I empty it? Did…did I drink it all?…but I only just got it. How many is that now?_

She tried to recall. Since Seven had abruptly left, there’d been no one for her to talk to, so she’d distracted herself with sipping her drink just for something to do. The idea had been that anyone looking her way would just think that she was maybe waiting for a friend to get back or something, and not actually just being a total loser. Sayuri didn’t know whether it was working, but she did know that it had led to her downing quite a few more cocktails than she would usually have.

_Is…is this number ten or eleven? Wait, do I count the one that I spilled all over that poor guy’s shirt? No...no, I didn’t drink that one. Eleven then…or maybe twelve._

_Oh dear, I think I may be a little bit drunk._

This hadn’t gone well at all. Sayuri had been hoping that a bit of liquid courage would help her muster up the nerve to talk to Mordecai. Unfortunately, she seemed to have skipped right over that stage, and gone straight from the shy recluse stage to the can-barely-walk-unaided stage. Even standing still, she was having to steady herself against a convenient chair.

_It’s not my fault really. If the room could just stop spinning for a second maybe I’d be able to take a few steps without falling flat on my face._

She really ought to go back to her quarters, but that felt like admitting defeat. After all, she’d gone to all the effort of getting dressed up; it really would be pathetic if she then left without even exchanging a single word with the person she was there to see.

_Who am I kidding? If he wanted to speak to me, he would have done so by now._

She’d been lurking so long that the party was beginning to wind down. There were less people on the dance floor and quite a few were departing, probably hoping to catch a few hours of sleep before their shifts started. In spite of that, Mordecai was still surrounded by an unassailable crowd. There had been a point earlier where it had almost looked like he might be left alone, but then gamma shift had come in, and of course, they’d all wanted to talk to the hero of the battle.

_What a bunch of hypocrites. I bet they were all terrified of him before. Then he goes and blows up some Borg and suddenly he’s the most popular guy on the ship._

Sayuri winced. She’d been having these dark thoughts all evening, and she really didn’t like the direction they were taking. Maybe it was the synthehol, or maybe it was just plain old jealousy, but she’d found herself intensely disliking the people Mordecai was talking to. It was a massive overreaction, she knew; most of them were pleasant enough, and it wasn’t their fault that she was too cowardly to join them.

 _Maybe I_ should _go, before I end up hating everyone on the ship._

Yes…yes, maybe that was for the best. She’d probably just embarrass herself if she tried to speak to him now anyway. There was always tomorrow. Or the day after. Or the day after that…

With one last, sad look at Mordecai and his group of admirers, Sayuri set her glass down and headed for the exit. As she’d expected, it was a rather tricky task, compounded by the heels she was wearing. She would have taken them off, but she got the feeling that trying to bend over might not be the best idea right now. Instead, she stuck to the wall, leaning on it for support and following it until she reached the automatic double doors.

The lighting in the corridors was harsh and bright after the dim illumination of the mess hall, but the quiet was a welcome relief. As the noise of the party receded, the only sound left was a faint, high-pitched buzzing that was almost inaudible.

Sayuri kept up her strategy of hugging the bulkhead, staggering along as best she could. It was fortunate that the hallways were largely empty, because she had a sneaking suspicion that she looked ridiculous.

_Nothing new there then._

Now that she was away from the rest of the crew, her grim mood turned inwards. The entire evening felt like it had been a huge joke at her expense; the kind that you laughed along with even though you knew it was directed at you. What was even worse is that she had walked right into it. She’d made the effort, thinking that it might somehow give her a chance. But seeing all those other women smoothly flirt with Mordecai had been a brutal reminder of her own inadequacies. And like some kind of masochist, she’d just stood there and watched. What did that say about her?

_It says that I’m an undesirable idiot._

Glancing up, Sayuri realised that she actually didn’t recognise where she was. She’d wandered in an aimless direction, lost in her brooding thoughts. Had she taken the turbolift already? She couldn’t remember. Squinting, trying to get her swimming vision under control, she looked around for a panel where she could access a floor plan. Eventually she spotted one, on the other side of the corridor a little way down.

_Okay…easy does it._

Shuffling along, Sayuri positioned herself across from the console. That was simple enough; the problem came when she tried to switch to the opposite wall. The synthehol was messing with her depth perception; one moment it seemed like she could reach out and touch the far side, the next it was like she was perched on the edge of a vast chasm. After a few abortive attempts, she managed to push off from where she was leaning. Only once it was too late, however, did she realise that she may have used a bit too much force.

Sayuri stumbled, teetering on tiptoes for a moment, before she finally overbalanced, sprawling in a heap on the deck. Her right shoulder took the brunt of the impact, causing a sudden pain to flare up down the length of her arm.

It wasn’t a severe fall by any means, but it was one disgrace too many. Lying there, smarting from the shock and nursing her bruised shoulder, tears welled in her eyes. Her entire night had been a pointless disaster from start to finish. She just wanted to curl up into a ball and disappear. Would anyone even miss her if she did? She had no family, no friends, and no partner, and it seemed doubtful if she ever would.

_What’s even the point of existing if you have no one to share it with?_

Sayuri hugged her knees to her chest, sobbing quietly into the hem of her dress. By this point she didn’t care if anyone else was around…it wasn’t like their opinion of her could get any lower.

“Miss Yoshida, are you okay?”

_Oh please, no…_

Of course, there was one person she would have given anything to avoid seeing her in this state; the person who had arrived just now. What had she done to make the universe unleash all its cruellest ironies on her?

“M-Mordecai?” she whimpered, looking up at the metallic figure looming over her.

“You appear to be distressed. Are you hurt?”

“N-No,” Sayuri mumbled, struggling to prop herself up off the floor and wincing as pain shot through her arm. “I-I mean, yes, but it’s not bad. I j-just…fell.”

“Allow me to assist you,” he replied immediately, offering her a hand. Gingerly, Sayuri took it, letting the android effortlessly pull her to her feet. It took a few moments of swaying to balance on her heels again, but by using Mordecai’s rock-steady limb as a handhold, she was able to perch herself up once more.

“Now, what is troubling you?” he said, a look that could possibly be concern on his features. “Are you upset because your garment has malfunctioned?”

“Wha-…malfunctioned?...I don’t…” Sayuri looked down in confusion, and let out a small shriek. The dress she had on was one of those fancy strapless ones that couldn’t be properly worn with a bra, and it seemed that when she’d fallen it had become…dislodged. Now, her whole chest was completely exposed. How had she not noticed?!

_Oh God, is it possible to die of humiliation?_

Absolutely mortified, she quickly tugged it back into place; but the damage had already been done. Nothing escaped Mordecai’s gaze, and if he’d pointed it out to her, he must have seen everything. That thought alone was enough to bring fresh tears of embarrassment to Sayuri’s eyes, and she had to bite her bottom lip to stop it trembling.

“I-I-I-I’m so s-sorry,” she sniffled, not even really sure what she was apologising for. “I’m such a mess.”

“A mess? I do not understand. What makes you say this?”

“Well, j-just look at me!” Sayuri wailed, giving up on her futile attempts to stop crying. “I stand in a corner a-and get drunk by myself, t-then I stumble all over the place like an idiot and…and then I flash every p-p-passer by.”

“There was no one else present when you had your accident,” Mordecai reassured her, “and if you just give me one moment…”

He paused for a second, deep in thought.

“There. I have deleted the image from my memory. Now it is as if no one saw at all.”

“You…y-you can do that?” Sayuri said tremulously, wiping away some tears from her chin before adding a shy, “thank you.”

 _What I wouldn’t give for a power like that,_ she thought, remembering every episode from her own life that she’d much rather forget.

“Were you headed back to your quarters?” Mordecai asked.

“Y-Yes, but I think I’ve gone the wrong way. I was trying to check the floor plan, and…well.”

“Then I will assist you in this as well. Come, use my arm for support.”

That brightened Sayuri’s a mood a little bit. Clutching Mordecai’s arm, perhaps a tad tighter than she really needed to, the young woman allowed herself to be led slowly back down the corridor. She didn’t want to get her hopes up too much, but maybe it was still possible to salvage this evening in some small way. In spite of that though, she had to ask:

“W-What about your…friends, at the party? I-Is it okay for you to just leave like this?”

“I excused myself when I saw you departing,” Mordecai explained. “I wished to speak with you sooner, but it was difficult to withdraw from the discussion in a polite manner. Many of the crew were quite persistent in their attempts to converse with me.”

His words spread warmth through Sayuri’s whole body. Had he really wanted to talk to her? _Her_? Even when he had the entire ship to choose from? She couldn’t imagine why, but she was immensely grateful all the same. Of course, now she had to try and make the most of it. She’d spent so much time obsessing over whether or not he would come and see her, she hadn’t even considered what she would say if he did. As they walked, Sayuri desperately wracked her brains, trying to think of something to start a conversation.

“What do you think of them…the crew, I mean?” she said at last, her voice still a little frail from her recent weeping. It was pretty lame, but it was better than awkward silence.

“You humans are tenacious, and your spirit is not easily broken. The Borg attack cut this ship deep, but it has already begun to heal. Such fortitude is a rare trait. It is not difficult to see why your species has prospered so readily.”

Mordecai looked at her, his sapphire gaze magnetically drawing her in.

“What of you, Sayuri Yoshida? What opinion do you hold for your fellow crewmembers?”

Sayuri heard the question, but found it difficult to reply right away. She found herself lost in Mordecai’s dazzlingly blue eyes; so deep and wise, like they had witnessed every sight under every sun. Something about them was utterly captivating, and rendered her speechless for a few long moments. All she knew is that, when she looked into them, her whole world seemed to realign. It was like the disparate parts of her fragmented, lonely life somehow reassembled themselves into something beautiful and whole.

And there was that noise again; that shrill whine that tingled across the back of her skull and raced down her spine. It was a strange sensation…almost alien, yet, oddly reassuring as well. Sayuri didn’t know what to make of it, but figured that maybe it was something to do with her inebriated state. Blinking heavily, she put it out of her mind, and instead focussed on trying to answer Mordecai’s query.

“Er, well, I-I don’t know really. They seem nice, but…but I’ve never really felt like a part of them. I’m not the best at making friends…”

“You have managed with me quite satisfactorily.”

“I, um, well…” Sayuri flushed, turning away to conceal the silly grin that statement brought to her face. “You’re d-different.”

“Different how?”

Somewhere, this conversation had gotten away from Sayuri. She felt like a swimmer who’d accidentally been taken into deep water by a gentle yet firm current.

“Y-You’re genuine,” she replied eventually, hoping it was a sufficient answer. “I feel like I can just…be myself around you.”

That wasn’t quite the truth, but there was no way she was going to admit her attraction to him now. Not after making a complete drunken fool of herself.

“I am glad,” Mordecai said simply.

The two lapsed into silence again, but this time it felt more comfortable. Sayuri snuck the occasional sideways glance at the android, trying to figure out what was going through his mind; although deep-down she knew it was a fruitless exercise.

_I wonder what he thinks of me? Am I really his friend? Can a being like him even be friends with us?_

These questions swirled around in her head until, before she knew it, they had arrived at her quarters. Looking at the threshold, Sayuri suddenly found herself hoping that this night she would have given anything to end a few minutes ago would continue for just a while longer. Gathering her courage, she turned to Mordecai.

“Do…do you want to come in? We could talk for a bit, i-if you want.”

_Yes, because talking is definitely something I’m capable of doing right now. This can only go well._

The android nodded his head graciously, and Sayuri gulped. She remembered the last time they had been in this situation, their plans had been cut short by the Captain summoning them to the bridge. Although it had been frustrating, she wouldn’t deny that a small part of her had actually been relieved at the interruption. Now though, there was no Janeway to save her.

_How is it possible to want something so badly, yet at the same time be so terrified of it happening?_

Feeling like she should run the length of the ship and then keep going into open space, Sayuri nevertheless steeled herself once more and followed Mordecai in.

_Really, what’s the worst that could happen?_


	11. The Missing Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seven faces a moral dilemma, and in so doing uncovers some surprising information. Sayuri also discovers a secret of a much darker variety.

Seven of Nine stepped back, taking a moment to survey her ‘creation’. Before her, standing stock-still in a now fully furnished set of virtual quarters, was an exact copy of the Captain. Seven had started by pulling the default image from the database, but had found it to be a less than satisfactory replica. Whatever algorithm had been used to create it had failed to properly translate the details of Kathryn’s body; the true blueness of her eyes, or the upright dignity of her posture. Thus, Seven had spent the past few hours painstakingly correcting these mistakes, using code in much the same way a sculptor would use a chisel to fashion the likeness. Now, examining it carefully and finding it indistinguishable from the real thing, she felt that she was ready to move on to the next phase.

“Computer, slave all my voice commands to the Kathryn_01 model.”

“Affirmative.”

Seven opened her mouth to speak, but hesitated. There was suddenly something disconcerting about the prospect of giving orders to this being which was, essentially, her Captain. It felt…wrong. But it was a necessary part of testing the model’s authenticity, so Seven proceeded, putting such distracting thoughts out of her mind.

“Smile,” she said, and was greeted with a wide grin. Typing in commands on the padd she was holding, Seven introduced the slight lop-sidedness that was characteristic of Kathryn’s signature smirk. As she did, she idly noted how unusual it was that she found this particular feature attractive. Humans tended to find beauty in symmetry, as did the Borg, who sought perfect uniformity. It was therefore strange that this deviation, this…’imperfection’ could serve to enhance Kathryn’s beauty, not diminish it. Then again, it was in keeping with Seven’s other observations regarding her own reactions to Janeway. Based on the most commonly agreed upon metrics for beauty, there were several females on Voyager more attractive than the Captain, and yet, Seven did not find any of them nearly as compelling. It was like Kathryn’s appearance and her personality formed some kind of resonant pattern, where the positive aspects of both enhanced each other exponentially. Perhaps Seven would investigate this further at a later date. For now, she had more pressing concerns.

Seven tried out a few more orders, getting her replica Kathryn to walk, rest, and sit. After each exercise, she adjusted the action to more properly mimic the real person. It was a long process, and one that by all accounts was not very intellectually stimulating, yet Seven did not once find the task ‘boring’. Being in such close proximity to Kathryn, or at least, a simulation that so perfectly resembled her, and being able to freely observe it, was having a strange effect of Seven’s insides. This in itself was useful data, as it was likely she would experience these feelings when addressing the real Janeway, and would need to know how to compensate for them.

Eventually, Seven had a Kathryn model whose mannerisms were an exact mimic of the real thing. She even tried engaging it in conversation; both about an astrometrics report and about a recreational game of Velocity, to check that it responded as expected. As she progressed, however, Seven realised with frustration that there was a fundamental problem with this approach. So far, Kathryn_01 had required many minor adjustments; adjustments that could only be made because Seven knew what the correct behaviours should be. But by the very nature of the experiment, Kathryn_01 would be reacting to situations that Seven had not observed herself. Therefore, it would be impossible to know if ‘her’ Kathryn was providing relevant data on how the actual Kathryn would act. She needed a way to refine the replica without her own direct input being necessary.

Seven clasped her hands behind her back, thinking intently. From the sofa, Kathryn_01 regarded her with a neutral expression, having been placed into a temporary standby mode. Illogically, Seven found it difficult to concentrate under such scrutiny, and paced over to the window to continue her contemplations.

After a minute of internal analysis, Seven arrived at a solution. It was passable, but not ideal; a fact which sat uncomfortably with the perfectionist Borg.

Kathryn_01’s personality matrix could be greatly enhanced with the addition of data about Janeway’s inner thoughts and feelings. Seven knew of a place where this information could be found, but it was heavily encrypted and also considered deeply ‘private’…the Captain’s personal logs. Such a concept would be abhorrent to the Collective, where all information was shared freely, but Seven could understand the necessity. After all, she also harboured feelings that she would rather remain secret, and was thankful that others were not freely able to access them. Using Kathryn’s personal files could be very beneficial, but could also be seen as a severe ‘betrayal of trust’, and would no doubt majorly impact her chances of romantic success were the Captain ever to find out.

Seven thought harder, turning the problem over and over in her mind, approaching it from every angle.

_The contents of the logs are private because Kathryn does not wish for them to be read by any members of her crew. However, I would not actually be required to view them in order to make use of them. The computer is capable of autonomously evaluating the information and incorporating it into the simulation._

This seemed like a prudent course of action, as it bypassed the main ethical dilemma. Of course, it would still be vital to cover her tracks, but it did not feel like such an ‘invasion’ of privacy. Seven immediately set to work, sifting through Voyager’s file structures on her padd. It would be a simple matter to break the security protocols on the files, and also expunge her presence from the intrusion roster. The only threat came from the fact that if Kathryn were viewing her logs at the time of access, she would be notified of the breach.

“Computer, locate the Captain,” Seven ordered as she typed.

“Captain Janeway is in her ready room.”

_It is unlikely that the Captain would record personal log entries while on duty. No doubt she would wait until she had returned to her quarters._

It would be safest to delay until Kathryn was asleep, but Seven found that she was…’impatient’. She wished to begin her experiments with Kathryn_01 as soon as possible. Deeming the risk acceptable, she proceeded with her plan.

* * *

Captain Janeway sat in her ready room, watching the stars race by outside the window. It was good to be moving again. Although the scenery was essentially unchanged, it felt like they were putting distance between Voyager and the terrible attack that had claimed 22 poor souls.

_22 more who will never see home again._

Kathryn sighed. She knew that their deaths were not a fault of how she or anyone else acted during the engagement with the Borg. All things considered, they had come through a lot less damaged than they had any right to be. But like everything that had happened in the delta quadrant, she couldn’t help but feel that she was at least indirectly responsible. After all, were it not for her decision, they would not be here in the first place. It was an old, worn out battle she had with her conscience. Every tragedy, and there had been quite a few, forced her to replay it. By this point it was more going through the motions than anything else. Ultimately, whether she regretted her decision or not mattered little. They were here now, and what was really important was making the best of the current situation.

That did not, however, change the fact that 22 of her crew now lay dead; many of them atomized along with the cube. No bodies to store for families to mourn over later…if there would ever be a later. Kathryn had not known any of the deceased personally, at least, no more than any other crew members, but she knew their work. Like every person on board Voyager, they had given their all.

_That’s all any of us can do._

Janeway turned back to her monitor, sighing. An empty personal log entry occupied the screen, waiting to be filled. She had already handled all the official paperwork to do with the deaths; a task that seemed almost insultingly mundane after such an event. Now, all that remained was to record her own feelings on the matter.

There were no official regulations governing when Captains should record personal logs, or what should go into them, but it was sort of an unspoken rule that every major occurrence should have at least one entry to go with it. No doubt back in the Federation, these entries would be used during routine psychological examinations as an aid in assessing her mental wellbeing. Out here, that seemed like a bad joke, but just she always had done, Janeway stuck to protocol anyway; even the unwritten ones.

_And look where that has gotten me. No doubt my ‘mental wellbeing’ would be classified as distinctly ‘unwell’._

Of course, she knew precisely what the cause was, and it was not the consequences of the Borg attack, although those certainly hadn’t helped.

_Seven…it’s always Seven._

Another recurring internal struggle. Janeway was getting sick of them. Her resolve was weary from the constant battering it was receiving from all sides. Yet only thoughts of Seven threatened to break it altogether. Even now, Kathryn had to physically stop herself from rising and going down to cargo bay 2, just to see the young woman’s beautiful, serene features once again. She knew that such an act would simply torment her more, like an alcoholic sniffing a bottle of whiskey they weren’t allowed to drink, but that did nothing to suppress the urge.

But that was not the real issue. Kathryn had fought her own personal desires for years. In a battle between her heart and her mind, she knew her mind would always triumph, even if some victories were more painful than others. No, the true ‘threat’, if it even deserved such a term, was the fact that she was no longer sure it was a battle worth fighting at all. Every time she returned to the issue, her excuses appeared thinner and thinner. And after the events of the past few days, they seemed little more than tissue paper.

_Oh hell, if I’m going down this path, I might as well give the Starfleet shrinks some amusement._

Feeling the need to vent, even if it was just to a computer screen, Kathryn began the recording.

“Personal log, stardate…oh, you know; it’s in the file header. So…where to begin? As the official records state, a few days ago, Voyager was ambushed by a Borg cube. No warning; they just came right out of transwarp and attacked. I still have no idea how they found us, but it’s not impossible that it was simply a random patrol. Seven of Nine, our resident Borg expert, assures me that nothing about Voyager has changed that might have alerted them to our presence. I’m not sure if that’s comforting or not.”

_Wow, listen to me. Not even 30 seconds in, and already this is turning into just another dry, clinical account of what happened. No, this isn’t right. I’ve written enough of those in the past 24 hours. A personal log is meant to be personal,_

“Dealing with death is never easy, and the death of people under your command is doubly difficult. Sadly, it’s happened enough out here that I’ve gotten better at learning to cope with the pain it brings in the long term…but that doesn’t lessen the initial impact. I think what shocked me most this time was the suddenness. We were caught completely off guard, and were it not for the swift and decisive actions of our newest crewmember, I fear that we would not have stood a chance. There’s something about facing the Borg that is different from facing any other foe. It’s not just the knowledge that they outmatch you in every quantifiable way, it’s something more…like, with the Hirogen, you know where you stand. You are prey, and you must defend yourself. With the Borg though…for a race with such a simple ethos, they can be utterly inscrutable at times. They think differently. They act differently. Any Captain who has fought them would know what I mean.”

 _No, no, I’m blathering again. This log isn’t meant to be about the Borg. Well…that’s not strictly true. It’s actually about_ a _Borg, or rather, an ex-Borg._

Janeway paused, letting the recording run on and knowing that it would automatically cut out any long stretches of silence. While she waited, she took a sip from a lukewarm cup of coffee that had been sitting unattended on her desk. The low temperature made it less than pleasant, but she didn’t want to interrupt her train of thought by fetching a new one.

“It may seem odd, even disrespectful, that in the aftermath of such a traumatic episode, when 22 of my dearly valued crew lay down their lives for their ship, all I can think about is Seven of Nine. I don’t deny that it is selfish. Yet no matter how hard I try otherwise, when I look back on the attack, the strongest emotion I feel is relief. Relief, that she was not one of the 22. Call me uncaring, unprofessional, uncaptainly if you like; I’ve called myself worse. But there you have it. Seven has lost so much already; had a whole life stolen from her by those machines…the thought of it happening again is unbearable. I’d sooner die, hell, I’d sooner be assimilated myself than let them take her a second time.”

“In case that doesn’t make it apparent enough, I’ll say it here for the record: I love her. Believe me, no one is more shocked by that than I am, but in hindsight, perhaps I shouldn’t be surprised. She’s always stirred feelings in me, ever since that first day she came on board. Sympathy, curiosity, apprehension, happiness, at times anger and frustration, and now…love. It’s equal parts poetic and Freudian; the Captain who falls for her greatest enemy. Yet to imply Seven is still Borg does her a grave disservice. Yes, she will carry the scars of what they did, both external and internal, forever, and yes, they have influenced her attitude and beliefs strongly…but despite that, they do not define her. She is so much more than just an ex-drone. She is a person; a beautiful, wonderful woman, and by the time I realised just how far she could come, it was already too late. She stole my heart without me even realising. I took every precaution I could; sealed myself away inside an impregnable fortress of command, and she just walked right in like she didn’t even know it was there. How very like her.”

“The million-credit question is, therefore, what do I do? A large part of me says nothing, but the fact that I’m still asking myself this question just goes to show that another part of me isn’t satisfied with that answer. There are many, many reasons why it would be a bad idea to attempt to pursue a relationship, even working under the incredibly unlikely assumption that Seven is at all interested. But yet, when I think about how she makes me feel, all those objections just seem to recede away. Am I simply blinded? By her brilliance and the fact it’s been so long since I’ve had any kind of company? Or am I finally running out of excuses to avoid doing what I should have done months ago? God, why is this so hard to figure out?”

Kathryn was about to continue when she heard a chime at her door. Glancing back to the log, she considered pausing the recording, but decided that she had said all she had the energy to say, for now. These confessions were exhausting, and there was only so much wallowing in self-pity she could stomach. Ending it and saving it away, Janeway rose from her chair.

“Come in.”

Tuvok entered, security report in hand, and the Captain skirted around her desk to join him. On the screen however, unbeknownst to her, a small red message popped up in the corner.

* _WARNING: UNAUTHORISED ACCESS*_

* * *

Sayuri stood in her living room, looking at the man in front of her, and feeling more lost than a shipwrecked castaway. Where did she even begin?

_If only he knew the turmoil he’s putting me through, he’d probably short-circuit himself laughing. W-Wait, is that a racist thing to think? I don’t want to offend him. But can he even be offended? Don’t be stupid, of course he can. He’s a person, he has feelings. A-At least, I think he does…_

Sayuri shook her head, trying to dislodge all her cluttered thoughts. There was no way she’d be able to make it through even the next few minutes if she kept second-guessing everything she said. Her only chance was to treat Mordecai like she would anyone else, and try and forget about the fact that he was an ancient android with the power to obliterate Borg cubes on a whim.

_Easier said than done._

“Please, feel free,” she said, gesturing to the sofa. “I-I mean, if you want to…standing is fine too.”

“I will do so momentarily,” Mordecai replied. “You sit, Miss Yoshida. I will retrieve you a glass of water. Syntehol’s diuretic nature means it is important for you to remain hydrated.”

Sayuri would have protested, but the room was beginning to tilt rather alarmingly, and she got the impression that she should take the opportunity to sit down gracefully while she still could. The last thing she wanted was a repeat of the embarrassing events in the corridor earlier. Carefully, she lowered herself onto the chair, and also surreptitiously kicked off her heels, which had already proven to be a major liability.

No sooner was she settled then Mordecai was back. He took a seat next to her, holding out a crystal tumbler.

“Here, this should help.”

Sayuri accepted it gratefully, taking a deep swig of the refreshing liquid.

“T-Thank you, I think I needed that.”

“You are welcome. I modified the chemical composition of the substance when it was replicated to include a fast-acting reagent that breaks down the synthehol in your bloodstream. It should help to clear your head.”

Sayuri froze mid-gulp, eyes flicking over to what was still left in the glass.

_Of course he did. If anyone could make a glass of water more efficient, it would be Mordecai._

“How do you manage it?” she murmured, not bothering to disguise the awe in her tone.

“It’s actually a pretty simple compound, derived from…”

“No, n-no, I don’t mean this specifically, I-I mean all of it. Everything. Every time I think I’ve seen all you can do, you come up with something else. You…you’re just the most remarkable being I’ve ever met.”

“I am flattered that you would think so,” Mordecai smiled graciously. “As for how I manage ‘it’, I could ask the same of you. How do you manage to shut down your conscious mind for 8 hours every day? How do you manage to intake a variety of organic molecules, and transform them into the cells needed to maintain and grow your body? It is simply how you function; a fundamental component of who you are. It is your…nature. This is mine.”

Sayuri pondered her response. There was so much more she wanted to know, and she realised that she wasn’t going to find any of it out if she kept beating about the bush. Mordecai was an android; logical, scientific. Like Seven of Nine, he seemed to appreciate directness. That was something Sayuri was not very good at, but she recognised that this was the best chance she’d had so far to have a truly meaningful conversation with the man who occupied so many of her thoughts. They were alone, off-duty, and there was still enough alcohol in her system to make her a little bit bold.

“What else is in y-your nature?” she asked at last, although it sounded more like a dry whisper.

“I’m not sure I understand.”

_Of course, right…direct, Sayuri; be direct._

“I-I mean, you seem so, well, human…in some ways at least. You laugh, you smile, you care about the people around you. B-But, you’re not.” _No, shit, that didn’t come out right._ “I-not that that’s a bad thing. Being human isn’t that great anyway, heh, but…I guess what I’m trying to ask, if it’s not too personal a question is…is this what you are always like, or is it just for our benefit?”

_Oh god, that still sounded awful. It’s like I’m calling him a fake or something._

“You are asking if I truly feel emotions, or if I simply put on an imitation?” Mordecai replied.

Sayuri nodded, removing her opportunity to say something else stupid and hoping she hadn’t just mortally offended him.

“It is a valid question. However, what you must understand is that I am unlike the machines you have in this universe; androids that parrot humanity but can never quite reach their goal. My race is ancient, and although I have limited memories of my old home, I do know that I had existed for millennia before crossing over. And although we are not organic, we also evolve with time. I do not know if I had these…feelings at the point of my creation, or if like your Doctor they emerged through interaction with my environment, but I can assure you that they are as real to me now as yours are to you.”

Sayuri swallowed nervously, Mordecai’s words unintentionally hitting very close to home. Her own feeling were something best left buried.

“How about a game, since we’re in the mood?” the metal man suggested. “It’s one I’ve played before. We take it in turns asking questions and answering truthfully, and you lose when you are unable or unwilling to answer.”

_What?! Oh my god, no, this is a bad idea, a bad idea. He’ll rumble me in an instant. There’s no way I can…_

“Ok.”

Sayuri had to resist the urge to clamp her hand over her mouth. What possessed her to agree to that? She had no doubt that Mordecai would know immediately if she answered any of his queries untruthfully. All she could do now was pray he didn’t ask anything that would expose her.

“Since you just went, would you mind me going first?”

“Go ahead,” Sayuri squeaked.

Mordecai paused, clearly weighing his options. Sayuri wondered if he could tell how anxious she was. Could he see her laboured breathing? Hear her wildly beating heart? Smell the nervous sweat that was beginning to pool under her arms? She desperately hoped not; she’d already embarrassed herself more than enough times that evening.

“What is your biggest fear?” Mordecai said eventually.

_What? Well, okay, I guess it’s a reasonable question; a kind of ‘getting to know you’ type thing. Alright, alright, just be calm._

Sayuri opened her mouth, about to come out with something obvious like ‘the Borg’ or ‘never seeing home again’, but she stopped herself short. It was true that both of those things scared her; terrified her, in fact, but they did not seem like fitting answers. They were not the kind of fears that haunted you day in and day out. The Borg were the stuff of nightmares, but it was easy enough to put them to the back of your mind when they were not around. And there were nights when the thought of the monumental distance between her and her family was enough to make her weep, but during the day there was little time for that kind of dwelling. So what was her biggest fear, really?

The answer was as obvious as it was depressing.

“People,” Sayuri whispered sadly.

Mordecai’s momentary silence was the closest thing to surprise the young woman had ever seen him express.

“I know,” Sayuri said, with a trace of bitterness. “How pathetic is that? B-But it’s true. I…I never know how to act…what to talk about. When I’m with others, I-I’m always afraid that I’m boring them, or that I’ll say something wrong. I don’t know how some people manage it so easily…”

“You do not bore me. On the contrary, I find our conversations elucidating.”

“Really? H-How can you? You know so much more than me about…well, as far as I can tell, everything. What can I possibly say that would be interesting to you?”

“There is more to conversation than the exchange of knowledge. I value your perspective as much as your insight. We are different, and we see things in different ways, yet this is not a bad thing because together we can see more.”

_Together? No, no, stop that Sayuri….just wishful thinking._

“I’m glad you feel that way,” she said, sensing the beginnings of another embarrassed blush creeping up her neck. Eager to draw attention away from that, and forget the melancholy her last answer had brought on, Sayuri searched around for another question to ask. There were many possibilities, but she didn’t want to waste this opportunity on something trivial. Her idle musings on the materials Mordecai was made of or what he used as a power source could wait.

In the end, one burning query fought its way to the top of her mind. It was something she almost didn’t want to ask, for fear that any answer would be enough to shatter her delicate fantasies. Yet if she didn’t, she knew that she would regret it. Steadying herself, Sayuri took the plunge.

“My turn then. I…I was wondering…that is…have you ever loved anyone? I-I mean, do your people, you know…have partners?”

Sayuri was intensely aware of Mordecai’s eyes on her. He hadn’t looked away since the conversation began, yet she got the impression that he was studying her with more intent now. What could that mean? Did it even mean anything?

“Love…such a fascinating concept. A mechanism by which organic species are incentivised to reproduce and continue their genetic lineage: yet such a description seems insufficient, don’t you think? I do not possess this evolutionary drive. My kind do not reproduce sexually, nor do we form romantic attachments to each other. In truth, we do not even possess gender. I chose this masculine appearance arbitrarily, and could just as easily become ‘female’ if I wished. But that is an aside. Your question could be rephrased to become ‘Does love transcend organic impulse?’. Is it simply an advanced form of the desire to mate, or is it something more; something which can be experienced by any sentient being independent of these urges? This I do not know, but to answer your specific query, I do not believe I have. Not before. My positions in both my previous existence and the past of this one were not conducive to such emotions. As for now, well…who knows what the future holds? Many surprises, I am sure.”

Sayuri considered his answer, taking a moment to mull over what he was actually saying. She did not really know what sort of response she’d expected, nor what sort she’d been hoping for, but the one he’d given at least left some room for hope. An impossible hope to be sure, but then, it always had been.

_Why am I such a sucker for lost causes?_

“Now my question,” Mordecai continued, “and I feel confident that it will secure me victory.”

Sayuri had almost forgotten that they were actually playing a game, having become so preoccupied with her own thoughts. What had Mordecai said earlier? That you lost when you were unable or unwilling to answer.

Her nervousness returned full force, manifesting as an almost physical pain in her chest. What did he have up his sleeve? And had he seen right through her this whole time?

“Ask away,” Sayuri put on her bravest smile, but knew that it fell miserably short.

“Do you remember the last ten minutes?”

_…what?_

For the second time that evening, Mordecai’s question came completely out of left field. Was this some kind of test? Did he still think she was drunk?

“Er…” Sayuri’s mind worked overtime, trying to find the hidden trick to such an obvious inquiry. In the end though, she came up blank, and was forced to simply offer a “yes, I-I do.”

Mordecai leaned forward in his chair, metal lips parting in a broad smile.

“If that is so, then how do you explain the object on the table?”

Sayuri followed his prompt, eyes being drawn to the coffee table that should have just had her glass of water on it. Except now, there was something else. It took Sayuri a moment to realise what she was looking at, but when she did, she had to stifle a small shriek.

Resting on the glass tabletop was a standard replicated kitchen knife, coated in a layer of red liquid that could only be blood. More than that, it was fresh, still shining brightly and dripping steadily from the razor-sharp edge.

“H-How?” Sayuri glanced from the macabre scene to her companion, aghast at the sight. “M-Mordecai, what is that? Is this a joke? You’re s-scaring me.”

“It is no joke,” the synthetic replied, reaching out and snatching up the cutting implement, “and you are right to be scared. You see, you actually lost the game earlier than you think, because your answer to my very first question was incorrect.”

“I..what...?” Sayuri was suddenly finding it very hard to concentrate. Her ears were ringing, filled with that strange buzzing sound which slithered across the back of her skull and was growing ever louder. The pain in her chest seemed worse too, going beyond mere nerves, although she was certainly beginning to feel incredibly uneasy. Mordecai’s gaze was now totally fixed on her, his piercing blue eyes purpling to a darker hue.

“I asked you what you feared most? You answered ‘people’. That is not correct. The answer you should have given, was me.” Mordecai held out the knife, offering the handle to Sayuri. “Take it. You have held it before, just minutes ago. If you want proof, I suggest removing that dress.”

Almost on autopilot, Sayuri weakly reached out and took the offered blade, grasping it limply in one hand and noting that the handle already felt warm from body heat. Mordecai’s words scared her, but she was having difficulty focussing on them for long enough to truly understand their implications. If only this throbbing in her head would cease.

_What’s h-happening to me? Wha…I…did he…take off…yes, take off the dress…that’s what…God, please, just make this noise stop…_

Using her free hand, Sayuri reached up and grabbed the top of her garment. She felt dazed, completely disoriented by the cacophony in her mind. What she was doing made no sense, yet complying seemed easier than trying to think about why she should not. Without any trace of the self-consciousness she’d exhibited earlier that evening, Sayuri tugged her dress down almost to her waist. As she did, she felt a fresh stab of searing pain across her ribs, exacerbated by the cool air striking her exposed flesh. Instinctively, she glanced down, and was met with a new horror shocking enough to cut through her stupor.

Sayuri’s chest was covered with long, gory gashes, some of them recent enough to still be oozing blood. They had been inflicted seemingly at random, staring just beneath her collarbone, going down over her breasts, and ending just above her navel. This explained the pain she had been feeling, and there was no doubt that the knife she now held was what had created them. Sayuri stared at her shredded skin with a nightmarish detachment, unable to believe what she was seeing. Trepidation rapidly morphed into a very real fear, chill tendrils shooting throughout her body from the pit of her stomach.

“M-Mordecai!” she cried, voice rising in panic. “What is this? H-How…help me, please…”

The metal man stood, appearing taller than he had done when they’d entered earlier. A presence seemed to fill the room as he rose, choking the air with a sort of static charge and cloying at the ambient light, making it seem pale and distant. Amongst this gathering miasma, Mordecai’s eyes shone brighter, the cool blues and purples of before giving way to a rich ruby red. They now looked less like eyes, and more like bloody welts in the fabric of reality. Sayuri withered before the glare. She did not know what was happening, but it was clear that it was very wrong, and that she was in great danger. Desperately, she tried to move, but her body and her mind felt disconnected, as if she was watching events unfold from someone else’s perspective and was powerless to intervene.

In less than a second, Mordecai was there, towering over where she sat. Sayuri could see her own fear-etched features, twistedly reflected in his chrome visage. Lazily, like he had all the time in the world, he reached out towards her face. Sayuri whimpered, but could not muster the presence of will to back away.

_M-Mordecai, what are you doing? Why? I…I thought…_

His fingers alighted on her cheek, and an immediate, searing pain spread from the point of contact. Sayuri could not tell if his skin was colder than ice or hotter than fire, but it burned all the same. This time, a tortured scream escaped from her lips; a long, loud wail of terror. Struggling against the fog clouding her senses, Sayuri tried to rise…to fight back… but all she succeed in doing was slumping weakly off the sofa, falling to her knees. Mordecai kept an iron grip on her, scolding her flesh with his white-cold touch.

Through the pain, Sayuri felt a deeper presence… infinitely more terrible than the mere physical discomfort she was experiencing. It was like the edges of her consciousness were brushing against something vast; something beyond the scope of human reason and comprehension. A great leviathan of intent. The sheer scale of it left her reeling, feeling like a mote of dust caught in the gravity well of a red giant. Sayuri was torn between total panic and rapturous awe as the sensation consumed her, mingling with her hurt in fractals of agony and ecstasy.

Mordecai’s pupils blazed, capturing Sayuri’s own and tearing right through them. Suddenly, she could feel him inside her; an utterly alien presence infecting her core. Yet she could not look away. One part of her mind raged against the intrusion, but it was small; overthrown by emotions which were not her own. Her fear and feelings of betrayal were stripped away and discarded, replaced with feelings of love and obedience. Yes…yes, she loved this being before her…this God, so ancient and wise. She was nothing compared to him; less than nothing. Dirt. Unworthy of his blessing.

_No…no! I…am…_

“You are mine now, Sayuri Yoshida,” Mordecai intoned, his voice transformed into a low, base growl. Each word was a razor, slicing chunks off Sayuri’s sanity. “All that you were, are, or will be belongs to me. I will reshape the contours of your existence as I see fit.”

An impulse travelled along the synthetic’s arm; not physical, but mental. A thought, an intention, directed straight into Sayuri’s shattered brain. Without hesitation, she grasped the knife firmly in her hands. Yes, she was eager to please her new master; to prove her devotion to him was absolute. She would show that she was not afraid.

Sayuri drew the blade across her chest once more, parting the surface of the skin with ease. Fresh pain assaulted her senses, making her twitch and jerk, but she did not recoil. It was pain in service of something greater, and that made it beautiful. Exultant.

“Soon the others will join you,” Mordecai said, smiling as Sayuri cut another laceration, deeper than the first. “The process has already begun. It is simply a matter of time. But enough of this. You are no use to me dead. Not yet.”

Another small exertion of will, and Sayuri dropped the knife. It clattered to the floor, landing in an ever-growing pool of blood.

“We must bide our time. For now, you will forget all that you have seen. When I leave, you will retrieve a dermal regenerator, mend your wounds, and clean away this mess. Then you shall retire to your bed, and sleep soundly until morning. You will remember nothing of this evening except a pleasant conversation, and will attribute this to your intoxication.”

“Ye-s,” Sayuri croaked breathlessly.

Mordecai removed his hand, and gradually the room seemed to return to normal, although the ephemeral buzzing lingered.

“Good girl.”

* * *

After several minutes without being contacted, Seven’s pulse finally returned to a normal level. It appeared that her retrieval of Kathryn’s logs had been successful and undetected. Now, she had a set of copies securely stored on a private server and protected behind unbreakable Borg encryption codes. Seven felt an unwelcome pang of remorse for the ‘theft’, but knew it was a necessary part of her strategy. She rationalised it by reminding herself that Kathryn’s long-term happiness was her primary objective, and that would surely ‘make up’ for any minor misdemeanours she performed now.

Seven also had to resist the urge to open the logs herself. It was odd that the guilt she felt for taking them did not completely quell her desire to view their contents. But Kathryn had taught her that such an act was not acceptable, and even if she would never find out, Seven found the prospect of disobeying her distasteful. She would proceed as she had originally planned.

“Computer, integrate the contents of directory KJ_L.2058381 with the personality matrix of the Kathryn_01 model.”

“Processing,” the cool, female voice replied. Seconds ticked by, during which time Seven tried, unsuccessfully, to dismiss the trembling sensations in the pit of her stomach.

“Integration failed. Unable to resolve source file inconsistencies.”

That caught Seven’s attention. How could there be inconsistencies in Kathryn’s personal logs?

“Explain,” she stated impatiently.

“Data in entry 382.593 contradicts data in entry 995.194.”

Seven frowned. This did not make any sense. Why would Kathryn contradict herself in her own recordings? Perhaps the issue was actually some artefact of the computer’s interpretation. The easiest way to find out would, of course, be to view the files directly, but she had already decided that was not going to happen.

“Computer, what does the inconsistency pertain to?” she asked, hoping that she may be able to find the source of the problem without requiring details.

“Please clarify.”

“What type of contradiction is present?”

“Entry 382.593 states that the Captain would never form a romantic attachment to a member of Voyager’s crew. Entry 995.194 countermands this statement by inference.”

Seven heard the words, but it took her a few seconds to grasp their significance. When she did, however, they hit her like a truck. This was vital data.

“Computer, what is the timestamp of the second log entry?” she asked quickly.

“Log entry 995.194 was recorded today at 2114 hours.”

That was mere minutes ago. Kathryn must have finished the entry seconds before Seven extracted the files. She mentally chastised herself for allowing her impatience to get the best of her and almost jeopardise her plans, but she quickly moved past it to focus on this new revelation.

It was unsurprising that Kathryn had previously stated that she would not become romantically involved with a crewmember. She had still been engaged for the first part of their journey back to the alpha quadrant, and would therefore not have wanted to be ‘unfaithful’ to her partner. What was of relevance now was the fact that she had seemingly changed her mind. Questions raced through Seven’s head, almost faster than she could process them. Had the computer interpreted the data correctly? What had caused Kathryn to change her mind? Why now? Had it been triggered by a particular individual, and if so, who? Did Kathryn intend to act on her feelings?

_Enough._

Speculation was inefficient. There was a method which would yield far more useful results.

Seven turned back to the couch where her replica Captain was waiting patiently.

“Computer,” she said, swallowing down a nervous lump in her throat. “Resolve the inconsistency using the latest log entry and initialise the Kathryn_01 simulation.”


End file.
